The Adventures of Anne Kirkland
by openedlocket
Summary: What would Hetalia be like in England was genderbent? A series of one-shots focusing of Anne Kirkland or fem!England, her history and her interactions with the other countries. Bonus Chapter: Drug Dependency
1. Swings are Sentimental

"Push me higher, England!"

The said country chuckled as she exerted a little more force in pushing her little charge on the swing. "Hold on tight, America. I don't want you to... fall." The last word faded on her lips as America did, indeed, fall off the swing. She instinctively ran over to him and immediately checked for injuries. America's loud cries and fidgeting didn't help her at all.

"Annie...it hurts!" Alfred wailed.

"I know, now hold _still_." She blew away the dirt around the scratch on young boy's knee and got out her handkerchief to cover the wound. "Didn't I tell you to be careful?"

"I'm sorry," the young boy sniffled.

"Now," England said, tying the last knot of handkerchief around America's knee, "does that feel all right?"

Alfred just wiped the tears from his eyes. "Kiss it better, Annie."

England didn't think twice when she bent down over the young boy's knee and kissed it. She then picked the young Alfred, stood up, carried him home.

She silently swore to herself that she'd always be there for the child, to kiss his wounds better and take the pain away.

***

Déjà vu was the only way England could describe the situation when a grown-up America somehow managed to fall off a children's swing. The next thing that happened was even more eerily familiar. Alfred was clutching a newly scratched knee and was looking up at her pleadingly. "Kiss is better, Annie."

Her initial expression of blank shock made way for a scowl. "You," she snapped at him, "are not a bloody child anymore, Alfred."

She watched with a heartlessly indifferent expression as her once-colony's face fell. Unable to keep up with her apathetic charade, England forced herself to turn away and leave with the little remaining dignity she had left.

The promise she had once made to herself came to mind and she closed her eyes in frustration. Silently she wondered how things had gotten this way between her and the young boy she once loved so much.

The memories of long ago plagued her thoughts for the nth time and the fantasies of happy times with him almost made her want to cry in longing.


	2. The Revolutionary War

_The rain made everything seem even more unreal than it already felt._

"England?"

He wasn't expecting to see her on the battlefield. For one, his lifelong impression of her was the perfect lady-like type. For another, he thought her confidence in her army would make her believe that her presence wouldn't be needed in this battle. Obviously he was wrong on both counts.

"What, America?" She called him America, not _Alfred_, not _little brother_. "Surprised?"

He nodded once, still too shocked to speak. He did not want to fight her. He would not hesitate to fight her king, her armies, but _her?_ How could he even bring himself to take up arms against her after everything they had been through?

"I'll have you know that I did not become one of the world's greatest empires by acting like a prissy _girl_." The cruelty and anger in England's voice could not be mistaken for anything else. "And I most certainly will not hesitate to hurt you if it means stopping this nonsense rebellion."

America's blood rose upon hearing her last sentence. "I want _freedom_, England."

England just glared back with that belittling expression America couldn't stand.

Did she really think that this was just one of his whims? Did she have to keep underestimating him? "I am _not _a child anymore, so stop treating me like your little brother!"

"If you weren't such a child then you wouldn't even be having this...tantrum," England replied coldly.

_Tantrum?_ America's tolerance had reached its limit. "Call it what you will, England but face it, I'm seceding you." He picked up his musket and bayonet and England did the same. They stood like that for a few moments, frozen with their weapons in their hands. They stared each other down, neither of them flinching despite the rain.

America was caught off guard when England suddenly charged at him. "I will not allow—" Her sentence was interrupted as America's blocked her musket with his own. The two weapons collided and both sides heard the resounding clash of the weapons.

Time seemed to slow as one musket was launched into the air, one of them unarmed. America looked down at his hands, surprised to see that they were empty. He looked back up at England's face only to be staring at the tip of her bayonet.

"Your incompetence is outstanding, America. To be honest, I expected more from you," England said in a smug voice, adding salt to the wound.

America's gaze met hers and he lost all hope that she would ever let him go. England would make sure that he would remain hers to the very end. "Go ahead, England. Just kill me."

Her voice was perfectly level when she replied. "I don't intend to do that yet America."

"Why not? I'd rather die than be forced to surrender to you. I'd rather go out fighting than to have to bow down to you again. Just kill me," he insisted.

Her eyes suddenly seemed to search for answers in his. He kept his gaze steady, trying to keep his fear of her from showing. For some reason, her gaze seemed to soften. She adjusted the position of the musket and leaned closer to him. "Do you really hate me so much, Alfred?" she asked softly so he was the only one who could hear. "Would you rather die than to come back to me?"

America's gaze never wavered but in his mind he wondered whether freedom was really worth breaking their bond over, if it was really necessary to hurt her like this. Then, he thought of his people who were ready to fight -even die- for him, of being finally recognized as the nation he deserved to be, of England finally respecting him in his own right. He had to do this for his people, for himself. England would just have to realize that.

"Well?" England's voice asked, breaking America's reverie. Her green eyes were still searching his for answers, for respite, for forgiveness.

America let his gaze soften into an apology for a moment before he broke her heart. "Yes, I would rather die."

England stepped back, her face now blank of any expression. She took aim at his head again, her finger positioned to fire. America heard his troops aim their own guns at her but he knew it was too late. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer, ready to feel the pain of the bayonet piercing his skull.

The bayonet never did come and, reluctantly, America opened his eyes. England had put the bayonet down and she herself was kneeling on the muddy ground, tears springing from those green eyes Alfred had only ever seen cry once before.

"I- I can't possibly fire..." he heard her whisper, as if to herself. "Why?" she asked, sobbing harder, cursing herself for not being able to hurt him.

America looked at her in disbelief. This was the mother who had raised him for all these years, the one who had helped mould him into what he was now. This was the older sister who had protected him unceasingly from all harm, physical or otherwise. England, who he had never wanted to face on the battlefield because she meant all the world to him, his England who apparently cared for him in the exact same way.

The day they became part of each others' lives played itself in his head. The memories were so clear. He could hear their happy chattering as they walked home to England's house, hand-in-hand. America could still remember the smile on her face, the one he hadn't seen for a long time. He remembered how much he looked up to her and how he wanted to grow up and be a strong nation like her.

"You used to be so big..." he murmured as he looked down at her sobbing form.

_A part of him was still hoping that this was all really just a dream, and that the rain wasn't the only thing that made it seem unreal._


	3. The Early Christmas Present

_December 1, 1941_

The latest shipment of American supplies had just arrived, well the little of the supplies that the Germans didn't manage to sink at least. England supervised the unloading and the taking inventory of the supplies. Normally, she wouldn't be accepting American help, what with her pride, but this was one of the few things sustaining her country during this war.

England wasn't informed, though, that a certain American decided to tag along with the supply delivery and pay her a visit. She found out the hard way when someone suddenly hugged her from behind.

Instinctively (and with little effort), she flipped the 'assailant'. With a loud thud, America's back was lying flat on the wooden floor.

"Oww!" America whined.

"America? What are you doing here?" England wondered, slightly hopeful that the neutral country had finally decided to help her fight. She offered a hand to help him stand.

He took her hand and pushed himself up, "I'm visiting you, of course. I wanted to see how you were holding up...and then you flipped me."

"Well, what do you expect me to do when someone grabs me from behind? I'm in the middle of a war here, remember?"

America sighed audibly, "England, it's called a _hug._ It's what you do to your friends when you miss them a lot and you finally get to see them."

"I know what a hug is, you git," she snapped, rubbing the shoulder she used the most in flipping America. She tried to recall whether she still had a wound there and silently prayed that it wouldn't start bleeding. Unfortunately, though, there was a rather recently acquired wound in that area and flipping America had, indeed, opened it up again. More unfortunately, she was wearing a white blouse so anyone could have easily noticed the blood spreading on the fabric.

England tried her best to cover it up with her hand and to hide it from America's view. She stayed silent as America blabbered on about how people shouldn't be flipping their friends and other nonsense of the sort. She wasn't really paying attention so she was caught off guard when he asked, "England, why's your hand on your shoulder?"

"Huh?" she asked, snapping back into attention. America grabbed the above-mentioned hand before she had time to react.

They both stared at her bloodied hand, frozen. America's eyes travelled to her shoulder where even more blood was visible. "England, you're bleeding!"

She tried to look apathetic. "It's...not a big deal America, really."

"Not a big deal? You're bleeding!"

"Stop overreacting, will you? I've had worse injuries," she insisted.

"England, I'm taking you to the infirmary," America declared heroically. Before England could refuse, he picked her up 'bridal style' and already started walking to the building.

"Put me down, you daft idiot! I'm not done with the bloody supplies yet!"

America, of course, didn't obey. "Stop thinking about the supplies and worry about yourself for once."

"Put me down, America or so help me I will use the little remaining strength I have left and make a giant hole of that district you call your capital before Christmas!"

America looked smug. "You wouldn't dare. No offense, but my country would destroy yours if you even tried."

"Ha," England replied in a bitter, mock-amused tone. "I'm dying here America, what else do I have to lose?"

He froze on the spot then finally put her down. "Stop making me feel guilty, England. It's not like I want to watch you get hurt or something..."

She shook her head. "I understand, America," was all she said, not offering any reassurance to him whatsoever. In truth, she felt like he deserved to feel guilty for maintaining neutrality in this war while she was slowly being destroyed by the Germans.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Alfred attempted to start conversation. "Hey, it's December already, right?"

England just nodded.

"So...aren't you going to ask me what I want for Christmas?" he hinted.

She gave him an exasperated sigh before asking in an insincere voice, "What do you want for Christmas, America?"

"I want...world peace."

"How am I supposed to give you that? Surrender to Germany?" England snapped.

America rolled his eyes. "I don't expect you to give it to me, I was just saying. What about you, England?"

"What about me?"

He laughed. "What do you want for Christmas, silly?"

She paused and thought carefully before answering. "All I want for Christmas," she said slowly, meeting his gaze, "is a hero."

America was silenced, unable to do anything but stare back at her apologetically. Both of them knew that a hero was the one thing America couldn't be right now. Sensing that she could get nothing more out of him, England turned away and went back to those supplies.

***

_December 8, 1941_

England unfolded the telegram the office secretary had left on her desk while she was gone. She read and re-read it carefully, unsure whether she should believe it.

_England,_

_ I'm giving you that Christmas gift after all, I hope you don't mind receiving it early. We've declared war on Japan. Your hero is on the way. Merry Christmas. –America_

_PS. You owe me. We're winning this thing so I can get my Christmas wish too. _

Her face lit up with a smile she rarely sported in those days. She whispered a soft thank you for the arrival of the hero she had long been waiting for. Maybe things would start looking up this Christmas.

***

**AN: A late Christmas special. Belated Marry Christmas, everyone :) **

Historical Notes:

During the first part of the war, America was a neutral country who only sympathized with the British. America was able to give their British allies supplies through the Lend and Lease Act, but the Americans still didn't want to actually join the fighting. Only after the destruction of Pearl Harbour did the Americans finally join the war. Well, as they say, better late than never.


	4. The Plague

_England, 1349_

She never usually visited the town, especially since women of her stature were discouraged to mix with the peasant folk, but it gave her pleasure to watch the busy activity of the people. They were a part of her, after all, a part of England.

She tried to ignore the stench of the streets as she walked, knowing that the villagers threw their wastes out of the windows above every morning. Those things were better left not thought of. After all, the common people did not have the resources of which the nobility often took advantage.

Her pleasant rounds around the shops and the houses came to an end when the sun reached the center of the sky, telling her that it was midday. She had better return to the castle before her king noticed her absence.

She sighed, not eager to part with her people, but immediately set of to return to the castle. Then, England was forced to stifle a scream when a pair of large, black rats ran right in front of her feet. _Was there some sort of rat infestation in the town? _She steadied herself for a few moments, trying to breathe evenly. It may have sounded weak (and France would have laughed at her for it) but she _detested _rats.

She jumped a little when she felt something brush against her leg. Rats! She started walking faster, hoping that her active movement would scare away any of those rodent pests still close enough to bother her. As England walked briskly, she tried to ignore the painful, itchy sting on her ankle.

***

_Ring around the rosy_

When England woke up the next morning, the first thing she felt was searing pain. She realized that, for some reason, she had a horrid headache. How much wine did she drink yesterday? Not more than the usual amount, she was sure. So why was she now suffering from one of the worst headaches of her long life?

Then she felt an irritating itch all over her body. Resisting the urge to scratch, she forced herself out of bed and walked to the looking glass. The sight of a rosy red rash on her arms and legs came as a shock.

What was wrong with her?

A knock on the door interrupted her bewildered self-examination, a servant girl came in to tidy the room followed by Anne's personal attendants. The women gasped as they too saw the rash that had come upon her body overnight.

England had no answers for their questioning looks. Helplessly she said, "Please inform the King that I am unfit to break fast with him this morning."

They just nodded, still shocked, and left her to dress herself. She couldn't blame them for wishing to stay away from her. This sickness could be contagious and she could only pray that she wouldn't be the one to spread the disease to everyone in the palace.

_***_

_A pocketful of posies_

The king had called for his physicians and the priests to examine her as soon as he found out about her condition. They restricted the access to her apartments in attempt to control the spread of the sickness.

Her condition seemed to be worsening, parts of her skin had started swelling and she often had spells of nausea. In the town, the symptoms of the sickness had started appearing on many others as well.

Currently, the priests and the physicians were recommending a number of different treatments for her illness. The priests believed that the disease was a sinner's punishment and believed that she should repent. Hence, she confessed all her sins to the priests a total number of three times that day.

While they prayed over her, the physicians insisted on examining the rashes in an attempt to find the cause of the disease. They told her that posies may help repel the illness somehow, so now, her rooms were filled with posies and her pockets had been stuffed full of the plant. The smell of the flower made England's nose itch but she found ways of enduring it. She tried to imagine the smell of roses instead of the posies and the incense the priests had brought with them.

After an hour of being surrounded by priests and physicians who were all attempting to cure her one way or another, she felt rather tired of the attention. Maybe, if they gave her a moment's rest and silence, the searing pain in her head would disappear on its own.

Just as she was about to fall asleep from exhaustion, a physicians voice brought her attention back to them again. "What's this bite on your ankle?"

She struggled to sit up and look at her ankle where two small bite marks were visible. Where had those come from? She tried to recall being bitten by anything and all that came to mind were those rats that had bothered her in the town the other day. "Rats," she murmured, lying back down.

"Interesting," the physician said, examining them further. As she listened to the priests' prayers and sounds of the physicians' further examinations, she eventually fell asleep.

***

_Ashes, ashes_

Everyone in her rooms was in a state of panic, the priests and physicians had just found out that the disease was actually fatal. Two others in the palace (a cook and a maid) had caught the illness, despite never interacting with her, and many more in the town had the disease now. Four people with the illness had already died from it.

England was relieved that the royal family had already fled to one of their private hunting lodges for their own protection. At least she didn't have to worry for them like she now worried for the rest of her nation. She hoped they would find a way to cure this pestilence soon.

In the last few days, her condition had gotten even worst. There were more buboes (or swellings) on her skin and, one in a while, they burst and leaked pus. Every part of her body seemed to ache and every time she attempted to eat anything, she always vomited it back out. The worst symptom so far was the ashy grey color her skin was adapting. According to the priests and physicians, it was one of the last symptoms before a person died.

_***_

_We all fall down_

England already felt like the living dead. She could hardly eat, drink, talk or even think. She felt nothing but helplessness and despair as she lay on her bed day after day. One small thing offered her a bit of comfort, though. If she was suffering, at least she was suffering with her people. She could share this pain with them instead of just watching them hurt so much.

Many of her people were now dead, lifeless. Was she going to die too? Was all of England going to fall to this disease? She already felt as if she was on the verge of dying yet for some reason, she always woke up to the pain.

As the country of her people, would she be deprived of the relief of death as long as someone in her country was still suffering? She didn't know. All she could feel was the overwhelming grief of the people and the merciless hold the sickness had on her.

Silently, she prayed for it to be over, a desperate plea for the pain to stop. Little did she realize that she would go through what would seem to be the longest wait in her life.

***

**AN: **Wow, I feel like the ending is really weak. So, if anyone has noticed, I posted a 4th chapter yesterday but I took it down because I was afraid it was too offensive. It was about the Chinese-English Opium Trade, therefore, about drugs. This chapter is to make up for that. The lack of America is saddening, I'll have to make up for that in the next part as well.

**Historical Notes: **This part of the story is based on the Black Death which plagued England during the 14th century. The symptoms include headaches, vomiting, nausea, rashes, swelling of the skin, and the skin turning into a greyish color. It was spread by a virus of fleas which infected rats. The nursery rhyme, Ring around the Rosy, is said to be connected to the Black Death, though the connection is unproven. 4 out of 5 people with the illness died, killing of a big percentage of England's population. It was one of the most horrible epidemics to strike Europe.


	5. The Portrait Part I

The G8 meeting was held at England's house that day, despite all of America's protests. In the end, he had resort to exploring the big, old mansion to keep himself from falling asleep in boredom. Despite the warning England gave him every time he visited (not, under any circumstances, to visit the rooms in the topmost floor) he found himself running up the steps to the place most forbidden.

_I wonder what old-person things she keeps up there, _he thought to himself, hoping he'd discover a secret or two in those old rooms. Maybe, under that stiff British facade, Anne would actually have some interesting aspects in her personality. That's what he wanted to find out.

Upon finally reaching the last floor, America breathed out an accomplished 'yes!' before looking around to see which of the many doors he should open first. When he finally decided, he immediately ran over to the door and pushed it open.

That first room was a disappointment. _Books, charts, an old laptop, papers, more books, more charts,_ was that all she kept in there. Upset, America came close to slamming the door before realizing that he could possibly be getting himself into trouble by revealing his current location. So, having no patience to close the door, he just moved on to the next room.

Each room turned out to be a greater disappointment than the one before. Some rooms were full of nothing but scrolls and maps, while others had old furniture and knick-knacks he cared nothing about. One room even had nothing in it except a lone wardrobe (hadn't he read about something like that before in a book?). All boring, boring, boring English things, why hadn't he expected that?

America sighed. Heroes didn't usually give up, but looking through these 'forbidden' rooms made him even drowsier than before. He turned back towards the stairs to leave but then he stopped himself in mid-step. There was still one room left. Did he dare to hope?

After a few moments' thought, he shrugged and told himself he had nothing to lose by checking out the last room. England was probably too busy preparing for the meeting that day to care about his whereabouts.

So, trying not to get his hopes too high, he walked back towards the last door. He stopped in front of it and put his hand on the doorknob. _Nothing left to lose._ He took a deep breath, turned the knob and pushed the door open slowly. Wonders of wonders, this was the treasure he had been looking for.

It was a room covered in portraits, carefully preserved in their shiny frames. He gasped in awe, ignoring the musty smell of the room and began to look at each one. He didn't really have any idea who most of these people were, clothed in jewels and fine garments. If it weren't for the names inscribed on the bottom of the frames, America would have never figured out who these people were.

_Edward, the Black Prince. Henry VII. Mary Stuart. Elizabeth I; _All names that England had seemed to treasure, one way or another. Their eyes stared majestically at him from the frames, making him want to look away to avoid feeling small. He took his time staring at every single portrait, taking in the splendour of these people.

Then he saw the last picture. There was no name inscribed on the bottom of this portrait but America didn't really notice. He was too busy being lost in its magnificence.

The woman in the portrait was posed casually on a regal looking seat, holding an open book in her hands but looking up at the person on the other side of the canvas. Her face was alight with amusement and her small smile warmed the foreign cold her grand clothes and jewels presented to onlookers.

The exquisite light-green gown the woman wore brought out the color of her eyes, a darker, deeper emerald America felt like he could get lost in. Her eyes shone with the amusement she hid in her discreet smile, making her seem even more of a mystery. America couldn't help but feel like she was teasing him from behind the frame, laughing at him for not figuring her out. _Who was she?_

He forced himself to tear his gaze away from her face and look at the rest of the portrait. Long, blond hair fell casually behind the woman's back, gleaming in the sunlight coming from the open window she sat near. Her posture was confident and erect yet she still seemed comfortable. She was a picture of the perfect balance of elegance and casualness, beauty and grace.

America didn't know why this portrait had transfixed him in such a way. It wasn't like the picture was more extravagant than the others or the art style more attractive, it was just something about the woman that seemed so eerily striking and...familiar. He wasn't sure who she reminded him of, he just couldn't put his finger on it.

He was so preoccupied with the picture that he didn't hear angry footsteps approaching. Nor did he hear a furious England knocking on the doorway.

"Alfred F. Jones, didn't I specifically tell you not to go up to this floor?" America jumped in surprise, finally out of his dazed state.

"Hey, England," he greeted then, without preamble, asked, "Who's the woman in this painting?"

England just glared back angrily. "You didn't answer my question," she replied in a hard voice. "You aren't supposed to be here."

"Yeah, I know."

"But you disobeyed my specific instructions anyway. You invaded my privacy."

America sighed. "Look, I'll get out of here as soon as I find out who she is."

"No," she retorted. "You are getting out _now_."

"But..." America replied helplessly as England dragged him out of the room. "Fine, fine!" he said, giving up and deciding to exit the room with the little dignity he had left.

England grabbed the doorknob and started to pull it shut, but then something made her stop the closing door midway. She took one last look at the portrait America had been so focused on, remembering something about it she thought she had completely forgotten...

_"Kindly hold still Lady Anne," Master Holbein said, veiling exasperation. The young woman on the chair gave a carefree laugh, trying to steal glances of the page in the book she was holding as she sat still for the painter. To herself she silently promised that, someday, she would look back at that picture and remember the happy times she had now._

_***_

Meanwhile, as America grudgingly climbed down the stairs, he promised himself that he wouldn't leave England's house without finding out who the woman in the portrait was.

***

**AN: I'm so sorry for being late with this. I hope you liked this one, I'm planning on making it a two-shot. It's mainly focused on America's point of view this time but at least it's about England. Did anyone else notice the slight reference to 'The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe'?**


	6. The Portrait Part II

**AN: A really BIG apology to everyone for this VERY late chapter. Things have been busy for me these past two weeks so I never really had time to get this finished. This part is finally done but I've had to make this two-shot into a three-shot. I'm making the story progress quite slowly and I wanted more time to do the ending. **

**For the next chapter: How do you guys want me to end this particular plot? Should I do it with angst or fluff or romance or etc? Let me know what you think :) **

**Sorry again for taking so long with this. I'll try not to let it happen again. Anyway, on with the story. **

*******

The next two days passed way too slowly for America's liking. Not only was he being eaten up by his curiosity, but he was also now strictly restricted from the top floor. England sure made that clear when she put a police line across the top of the steps. Yes, America tried to cross it and yes, he found out that all the doors on the floor had been locked. To add salt to the wound, England caught him at his desperate attempt to open the doors and gave him that smug look he found irritating when directed at him, then practically dragged him down the steps back to the meeting room.

Now he was curious, humiliated and slightly bruised, but that wasn't going to stop a hero like Alfred. He was going to find out who that woman was no matter what England did to him. So after some thought he decided to resort to asking France about the portrait.

"Which portrait is this, _mon_ _cheri_?"

America sighed, not happy to be repeating himself. "It's in the room full of portraits on the top floor, the picture of a blond woman that doesn't have a caption."

"_Excusez-moi Amérique, _but I was under the impression that no one was permitted into those rooms."

America looked at him in disbelief. "Don't tell me you've never disobeyed that rule! You must've been in there at least once."

France smiled mischievously and rolled his eyes. "Of course I have, _Amérique. _Now, this woman, are you sure she isn't one of _Angleterre_'s many monarchs? Or perhaps she was a member of the English court."

He shook his head. "I don't think so. If she really was one of those stuffy queens or princesses then she would've had a caption under her portrait. It's a really a mystery."

"What does she look like?"

America recalled the picture in his mind before describing it to France. "She actually looks...familiar. She had long straight, blonde hair and green eyes. Her pose was...casual, I guess. She was on a chair and she was holding a book, but she wasn't reading it. She was smiling..." He trailed off, lost in the memory of the portrait again.

"Ah, I see," the Frenchman nodded with understanding. "You are fuelled by the thrill of the mystery...and maybe even the woman's attractive appearance, _non_?"

America tried to hide his growing blush. So maybe he was a little too fixated with the picture, but that didn't mean anything. Or did it? "Shut up."

France sighed. "All right then. I will, as you say, 'shut up' and keep my suspicions on the woman's identity to myself. _Oui?_"

"No, wait. I take it back, tell me what you think."

France pretended to hesitate for a few seconds before rubbing his chin and appearing to look deep in thought. America tapped his fingers on the table impatiently as France took yet another dramatic pause before speaking. "It appears to me that this woman looks a lot like a certain friend of ours."

"Who?"

"I think the woman is—"

The sound of someone clearing their throat at the doorway made the two abandon their conversation and turn to the source of the sound. England glared back at them, arms crossed, looking visibly peeved. "The meeting ended ten minutes ago," she snapped at them. "What are you two still doing here?"

"Uh, France and I were just talking about..."

"Lunch," Francis covered for him. "_Amérique _felt the need to eat out instead of sampling your horrendous cuisine and I was inclined to agree with him."

She looked at the two of them carefully before giving them a final glare and stomping back into the hallway.

America turned back to France when she was out of earshot. "So, what were you saying?"

France seemed to suddenly decide that it would be safer to let America find out himself instead of telling him outright. "I think you'd find the answers to your questions if you'd go to England's study. She has a few pictures there that could help you, _mon cheri." _

"All right," America smiled, eager to have this new lead. He said a rushed 'thank you' to France before going off to investigate the study.

***

America had to ransack England's closet before he could get the keys to the private study. When he finally got in, he emptied all the drawers of their contents. Now various books, reports, forms, office supplies and personal possessions were scattered on the floor. He hadn't found what he was looking for yet: the photo albums.

Despite his best efforts, Alfred still didn't have the answers he had been looking for. On the verge of giving up once more, he desperately cleared the bookshelves of everything they held and threw the contents onto the floor. It was a mess worthy for a mention of some sort.

After another half-hour of searching, he found himself lying on top of the pile of books and papers he made on the floor, wondering how he had gotten himself into such a predicament. It wasn't like the woman in the portrait meant anything significant to him. Why did he have to find out who she was so desperately? Finally convinced by this logic and his multiple failures, he decided to abandon this search once and for all.

He grudgingly tried to clean up some of the mess he had made, opening drawers and just stuffing in everything that would fit them. Sure, it wasn't really cleaning up but at least he didn't just leave the mess to be discovered. America opened the last empty drawer and, taking out his frustration, slammed a book into it.

When the hardbound dictionary hit the empty bottom of the cabinet, a hollow sound came from the impact. America noticed this immediately and his brows furrowed in deep thought. Involuntarily, he touched the edges of the drawer's bottom and was surprised to find a small handle attached to one corner of the smooth surface.

_There's a secret compartment_, he thought to himself. America excitedly pulled at the handle and the bottom of the drawer budged. He threw the wooden bottom on top of the messy pile he had made on the floor and he looked at the contents of the secret part of the drawer.

America ignored the letters, the seal rings and the other memorabilia of the sort, immediately reaching for the hardbound, leather photo albums. He flipped through the plastic covered pages, skipping the pictures that had no relevance to his search.

Soon, he came across something of significance: a picture a woman in a formal dress sitting beside England's current queen. The picture was in black and white but America could imagine the colors of the actual scene and identified the woman as the same one in the portrait.

England's queen still looked young in the portrait so the picture could have been taken before World War II. The woman herself seemed unchanged despite the time difference between the portrait and this picture, though. She still had the same face, the same hair, the same grace but what stood out to America was how different her expression was.

Her expression looked nothing like the casual smile in the portrait. Her lips were set to a neutral expression and the shine of her eyes was replaced by a weary, sad look. Everything about her, in general, seemed sadder, more serious...different.

America wondered to himself what had happened to her. What had changed her so much over the years? She seemed so different from the woman in the portrait but he was sure that she was the same person. Then, the realization struck him: how could a person in a portrait painted centuries ago appear in a picture taken during the 1900's?

No normal human had a lifespan like that, so did that mean that the woman was a country? America's mind tried to put the facts together: a country, blond hair, green eyes, sitting with the English queen.

He could only come up with one logical explanation. As his mind processed the information at top speed, a strangled cry interrupted his thoughts. He turned to see the source of the sound and there, standing at the doorway, was the woman whose identity had completely baffled him.

America stared at her, trying to take in everything he had discovered. He tried to imagine her with her hair down and the glasses she now wore taken off. The image his mind produced only further proved to him that his suspicions were correct.

She stared back. "America, what have you done?" He could tell she was trying to sound angry but her voice cracked with the surprise of him finding her out. America didn't answer. He only stared back with equal surprise, still trying to make himself believe it.

The woman in the portrait had been England all along.


	7. The Valentine's Day to Remember

**AN: I've had a big case of writer's block with the 3****rd**** part of The Portrait so I wrote this (fail) oneshot for Valentine's Day. The Portrait III will come up soon. Sorry for the wait :) I hope you all like the (obviously uninspired) substitution fic.**

*******

Valentine's Day.

To England, it was a holiday she could live without. There was so much to dislike about Valentine's Day: pink and red hearts, lovers whispering sweet nothings to each other, public display of affection, an excuse for France to express 'love'? There was nothing ideal about the occasion, _at all._

She usually spent that day in the privacy of her own home, locking herself away from the rest of the world while people were at their mushiest. This year though, some idiot scheduled a world meeting two days before the dreaded occasion. Because of this, she now found herself in a meeting room full of lovey-dovey countries who were intent on taking their insanity to the next level.

The meeting had supposedly started twenty minutes ago and England had spent the duration of that time sitting on her chair, hands over her ears, trying to somehow wish herself out of the chaos they called a world conference. Her mind desperately tried to transport itself to her 'happy-place', imagining the quiet peacefulness of her home and thinking of all the things she _could_ be doing now if she didn't have to be here.

England did not know how she managed to survive that first hour with the rest of the love-struck world, but she did know that she was _extremely_ thankful for the thirty-minute break that was called for. She sipped her tea slowly, determined to make the time seem to lengthen itself. She would do almost anything to skip the rest of this fiasco.

The end of the break eventually came and she found herself trudging back to the meeting room. Despite walking at a deliberately slow pace, she was one of the first to come back to the meeting room. After mentally reprimanding herself for being naturally punctual, she plopped herself back down on her assigned seat.

Taking advantage of the temporary lack of countries in the room, England attempted to find herself a decent train of thought that would make the next hour of the meeting liveable. She was in the middle of a particularly comforting thought when she felt a tap on her shoulder. England looked up and found herself staring at America.

Then, she did something she always did: she used him as an excuse to emotionally burst.

"You! So you're the git who scheduled this meeting, huh? Did you do it by pure idiocy or are you really trying to torture me to insanity?"

America looked taken aback. "What did I do?"

"You just had to have this meeting when all the other countries are love-high. Haven't you ever thought that _some_ countries would rather be alone?" Then, she noticed that he was holding something behind his back. "What are you hiding?" She attempted to look around him to see it but he blocked her view.

"I _was _going to give it to you, you know? You obviously don't want it, so never mind," he said in a sullen voice.

"Stop being such a prat. I want to see it."

"No."

"Give it to me."

"No!"

England tried to grab it, getting off of her chair, but America backed away even further. Irritated, she resorted to crude threats. "If you don't show me what the bloody thing is, America, I am going to—"

"Fine!" he yelled, thrusting a single rose at her direction. He waited for her to take it before stomping out of the room.

She looked at it, frozen with surprise. Not only was she shocked that America actually gave her a rose, the flower itself was astonishing. Each petal of the rose was partly white and partly a dark shade of pink. America had given her a Tudor Rose, an emblem of her country and a breed of rose rarely grown in recent times.

Guilt suddenly filled her insides. America had given her a rose (a rare one, at that) for Valentine's Day...and she had yelled at him. Paying no attention to the other countries who had watched her spat with America, she ran out of the room to catch up with him.

***

England found America sitting on the top level of the building, technically the roof. He was looking out into the city, facing away from her. She tightened her hold on the rose before approaching him.

She knew her footsteps were loud enough for him to hear them, but he did not turn around to acknowledge the sound. When she finally reached him, England was at a loss with what to do next. Hesitantly, she placed a hand on America's shoulder.

He didn't shrug it away, but a moment later he turned to face her. Before she could even bring herself to apologize, America spoke. "Yeah, I know what you're going to say. You're sorry and you didn't mean to shout at me and etcetera..."

"Oh," she mumbled, relieved that she didn't have to ask for forgiveness out loud. "So, will you forgive me?"

America shrugged. "I just might...but you're going to have to earn it."

England sighed. She should have known that America wasn't going to let this go easily. Her mind thought of different methods to make it up to him until finally settling on the most effective one that would save some of the pride she had left.

Without giving herself time to think it over (or change her mind), she leaned closer to America and give him a small peck on the cheek. When she pulled away, her cheeks were burning with embarrassment. She managed a quick look at his expression and saw that he was smiling...rather goofily, so it seemed.

"Apology accepted," America said happily. England got the distinct expression that she had been had. She looked up at him, ready to accuse again when she saw the gleeful look on his face. England had to admit, he was too adorable to shout at for the moment.

She satisfied herself with a scowl. He only laughed and placed an arm around her shoulder. England didn't wriggle away, to be honest, she actually liked how his arm felt there (not that she would ever tell America that).

They stayed like that for a good amount of time, silently enjoying each other's company. Lost in her own happy feelings, England thought to herself: maybe Valentine's Day isn't so bad after all.

***

**AN: Sorry for the fail romance. The events of this one-shot take place sometime before The Portrait. Hope it's an acceptable substitute :) Thanks for reading. **


	8. The Portrait Part III

America didn't know how long they stood there, awkwardly staring at each other. He did know, though, that if he didn't speak up soon he was going to learn a very painful lesson about breaking into restricted rooms and scattering all of England's possessions. So, he pressed himself to say something, anything to save his skin.

"Er...you looked really nice in that portrait, England," he gushed, trying to use flattery to his advantage. Feeling more confident that he could calm England down without getting hurt, he said the next thing on his mind.

"I didn't know you could look so pretty." Mere moments after the words left his lips, England had wakened from her dazed shock and her face had quickly turned red in a not-so-good way. Okay...maybe that wasn't the best thing to say. America was certain that he was going to get it now.

"Alfred!" she screamed. "I can't believe you! Insulting, inconsiderate prat! What have you done to my study?"

America was scared, there was no denying it. England looked especially frightening when she was screaming at him like this. Desperate for something to say he mumbled, "Uhhhm, I redecorated?"

He tried to tune out the string of swear words she then chose to yell at him. Catching bits of it, he had to say that England's vocabulary was very colorful. He picked up curse words in English, French, Norwegian, Japanese, Gaelic, Chinese, and a bunch of other languages he never even thought existed. America had to be careful not to get too distracted though. The swear words weren't coming out as fast as they initially were and he was quite sure England was going to yell words with actual conversational value at him again soon.

Finally, England had vented enough to stop her swearing but it was no comfort to America. She still looked ready to throw him out a window...maybe twenty times in succession. "You are going to stay in this study until _every_ single thing is in its proper place! Then you are going to grovel at my feet and _beg_ for forgiveness. It's that or you're staying in this room until the day these G8 meetings end!"

"Alright, alright," he said, quickly accepting his punishment.

England stomped out of the room and America breathed a sigh of relief. Then, turning to the mess he had to clean up, groaned. With all the work he had to do, he might as well be stuck in the room until_ after_ the G8 meetings ended.

***

When England came back to check on him thirty minutes later, America was ready to say that he had made visible progress. Majority of the books (not to mention the really heavy ones) were placed properly on the shelves.

"Hey, Anne!" he greeted her cheerfully, too busy with the books to turn and look at her yet sincerely hoping that she had calmed down.

England didn't answer back but he could hear her footsteps approaching. She stopped beside him and scrutinized the books he had already placed on the bookshelf.

"So..." America said, desperate to fill the silence. "You aren't going to yell at me anymore?"

England didn't look at him but replied, "Despite the fact that I think you deserve it, no. I'm not wasting anymore of my breath yelling at you."

After a few moments of silence followed England's blank expression turned into a smirk. "You do know that I sort my books according to the Dewey Decimal System, right?"

"What?" America asked in disbelief. "You mean I have to rearrange _everything_! You don't even put call numbers on these things," he pointed at the books.

England sighed. "I do so. They're written on the page before the back cover."

America suspiciously checked the last page of the book he was holding, internally grumbling when he saw the book's call number scribbled lower right-hand corner.

"Alright, alright," he gave up. "I'll do it over." He turned his focus back to the books he had to rearrange, deciding how he should sort them. Glancing over his shoulder, he realized that England hadn't left yet.

"Uh, you can leave now, England," he said unsurely.

She shook her head. "I need to make sure you do it right this time." Then, after a moment's thought, she sighed and added, "I might as well assist you with the task. I don't want you running around in my study for the rest of your stay."

"Why? Any more secrets to hide?" he teased.

She gave him a look that immediately prompted him to shut up.

"I was kidding," he mumbled, turning his attention back to the books and away from England's glare.

***

America accomplished a lot more work with England's help. Within the next hour they had sorted all of the books by general subject and had started arranging them by their more specific topics.

He had tried to make the time pass more quickly by making small talk but England seemed more content with the productive silence, so he had stopped trying after a while. The idleness in his mind, though, made his remaining curiosity over the portrait grow. He was just itching to ask her about it.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "England?"

"Yes, America?"

"Can I ask you something? It's about the portrait..."

She was quiet for a while before she replied, "If you must."

He swallowed hard, hoping that his question wouldn't bother her too much. "Okay...so who painted it...and when? I can't remember you ever having a portrait done when I was living with you."

"It was painted before I colonized you," England said in neutral tones, "by Hans Holbein the Younger. He was a very popular painter in King Henry VIII's court. The king had wanted a portrait of me just in case he needed it for diplomatic relations. I'm proud to say I managed to gain possession of it before it was used for anything serious."

"Oh, no wonder. You did seem a bit younger there and you dressed differently...I still don't understand why I didn't recognize you, though."

"Maybe it's because you're a bloody idiot," England suggested, putting a book in between the pile she was organizing.

America didn't reply, thinking hard about what made it so hard for him to recognize England. It wasn't her hair, he was pretty sure he would've recognized the blond shade of her locks no matter how it was styled. It wasn't her extravagance since England still often had that air of class and aristocracy about her.

He glanced at England again, hoping to get the answer he so wanted. His gaze fixed itself on her lips, set in a determined expression of constant displeasure. He noticed the soft lines on her face that she probably got from worry, stress, and from frowning way too much.

He shifted his gaze to look at her eyes. They were concentrated on the books at the moment but he didn't have to stare fully into them to see how different they were from the eyes in the portrait. England's eyes always looked sad to America. A weary look had replaced that amused shine in England's green orbs, making her seem older, more shattered.

It was England's expression that had made her seem so different, that emphasized her transformation from a carefree young woman to a sadder, more mature one.

Making this realization, America felt the sudden urge to know what had happened to make England change so much...he wanted to know how he could help her be the happier person she used to be. "England?" he said, preparing himself to ask her a more sensitive question.

She looked up, her expression one of slight irritation. "What is it now America?"

He took a deep breath. "I think I know why I didn't recognize you."

England raised an eyebrow. "Well, are you going to share your discovery with me or am I going to have to guess?"

America ignored England's sardonic tone. "It's your expression," he said in a soft voice. "Your expression in the portrait is so different from what I'm used to seeing."

"In what way?" England asked with her brows furrowed.

"You're so much more...serious and stressed..." he paused before adding softly, "...and sad."

She didn't reply and he took this as a sign that he was correct. More concerned than curious now, he asked, "What changed England? Why are you so unhappy?" He looked at her with pleading inquiry, keeping his gaze locked on hers.

Again, she had no reply but America could see the answer in her face as she looked back at him. England had said that the portrait had been painted before she colonized America...before she had to take care of him...before he rebelled against her...before he fought her off his shores. It was clear to him now but he wasn't any happier to gain this new understanding.

"It's me, isn't it?" he asked breathlessly. "I made you this way...by hurting you?" All those times he had insulted her, caused her pain...was it what made her so different from who she used to be? When he was still her colony, did he hold such a big part of her heart that it could no longer completely heal when he left?

"No...no," she said, first in a soft voice then in a much more forceful one. "Of course not, stop presuming such utter nonsense," she then added with a tone of growing irritation but America saw the truth in the unguarded bits of emotion in England's eyes.

"If it's not me, then what made you change?"

"I...I don't..." England stuttered before pulling herself together and saying angrily, "My world does _not_ revolve around you, Alfred F. Jones and if you think that I would break myself apart over you, then you are sadly mistaken!"

America knew she was denying it but he still felt pained hearing the words coming from her lips. "So you're saying that you didn't care about my Revolution, that it never mattered that I left you?" he asked, wanting to hear England take the hurtful words back, the feel reassured that she did care for him.

England's cheeks flushed red and America wasn't sure which of the many emotions on her face would overcome the others in the end. He could almost sense the anger, surprise and the sadness radiating from her. America watched her stand up slowly with her fists clenched in anger and tears of frustration (and maybe sadness) glistening in her eyes.

"Alfred," she said in a low, angry voice. "If your goal all this time was to lord your superiority over me then I have to say you've accomplished it." America was about to object to this, but she continued.

"If you wanted proof that you could bring me down from the inside out, then here it is for you to see." The tears in her eyes were now rolling down her cheeks, as she furiously tried to rub them away.

"And if your wish was to see how much power you have over my emotions, to see me so torn apart for you, then look at me now. See how defenceless, weak and stupid I'm being, all because of you!"

"Anne—" he desperately tried to interrupt.

"But I won't stand for it anymore!" she suddenly shouted. "I swear that this will be the last time either of us will see me crying over you, the last time I'm going to hope for something so foolishly out of reach. From now on, you do not have a place in my heart and I swear that you never will again!" With this she turned and started to leave the room.

America stood up, his head and heart racing with thoughts and emotions he never revealed, even to himself. He couldn't completely understand what was happening but it felt as if his very heart could sense that something he couldn't live without was being torn away from him.

Without thinking, he raced after England. When he reached her, America grabbed England's arm and pulled her back toward him. She turned to glare at him with livid anger, her hand coming up as if to slap his face. America instinctively stopped the blow with his own hand, and looked at her pleadingly.

She froze and looked back at him, the anger in her face quickly replaced with confusion. "Alfred, what..." she trailed off, caught between anger and the remaining feeling she still had for him.

America, suddenly realizing he had England in his arms, felt the rush of dangerously overwhelming emotions surging through him again. He wanted Anne to know that he loved her, he still needed her and that he never wished to hurt her. Unsure of how to communicate the indescribable feelings he felt, America continued to stare into her eyes imploringly, hoping England would understand just how much she meant to him.

Then, caught up in the overpowering emotion he felt, he gently pressed his lips to hers.

***

**AN: I know what you're all thinking...it's probably something like, "What kind of ending does she call this?" or something of the sort. Well, yeah, it's a cliffhanger (though taht was pretty obvious) : And it lacks fluff. Sorry about that, it was rather hard to fit it in but to make up for what this fic is lacking, I'm thinking about making a fluffy epilogue. How about that? **

**I'm hoping the fluff and romance wasn't too fail. :) Thanks for reading and please feel free to tell me what you think. **


	9. The Portrait Epilogue

Ever since he had kissed England, they had found it awkward to talk to each other. Once again, they just both didn't know what to say. That was happening too much for America's liking nowadays but after their lips had parted, he found it hard to explain his actions. When he had left England's inquiring look unanswered, she had simply returned to organizing the books, looking flustered. Still finding no words to say, he did the same and since then both of them were inclined to avoid awkward contact.

Now, it was his last night at England's house before he was scheduled to return to his own country and he wanted to settle things. After dinner that night (not England's cooking, thankfully), he followed Anne upstairs. She only had a five minutes' head start ahead of him but he realized as he reached the second storey of the house that he had no idea which room she had entered. After knocking on all the doors of that floor and receiving no answer, he hesitantly climbed the steps to the next level of the house.

For the second time in his stay, he found himself on the tops step of the staircase leading to the third floor. This time, he didn't have to knock on the door of each room because it was clear to him which one he should enter. The room with the portraits was slightly open, as if inviting him to enter and the light coming from there told him that England was sure to be inside.

He slowly approached the door and gently opened it wider so that he could let himself in. From where he was standing, he immediately found England. She was standing in front of the portrait of her younger self, appearing not to notice his entrance.

"Anne?"

She turned to acknowledge the sound of his voice but immediately looked back at the portrait. He took a deep breath before walking closer to her and putting a hand on her shoulder. She didn't shrug it off but she didn't react in any other way as well.

"Anne," he paused before continuing. "Can we talk?"

"Maybe," she replied nonchalantly.

"Maybe?"

"You still owe me an explanation. So...why did you kiss me? Was it because you found out I was her?" She asked stiffly, nodding toward the picture.

America was shocked. "What? No! How could you even think that? It wasn't just something I did out of a whim or for no good reason. I mean it, every bit of it."

England turned to face him, her face guarded. "Then why did it matter so much to you that I had changed?"

"Because..." he tried to explain, "I want you to be happy and I...I can't stand being the reason why you're not."

"You do know that we can't change that fact, right? That some things can't be fixed," she said rather morosely, still looking at him.

"But I can make up for it and that's what I plan to do," he promised in a determined tone.

She raised an eyebrow. "How?" she asked disbelievingly. "If you're going to try to make me more like her," another nod towards the picture, "then I doubt it will work. I've changed too much."

America looked at England then at the portrait in turn and an idea formed in his mind. "I don't think it'll be that hard," he said, smiling suddenly.

England didn't reply but looked at him rather curiously.

"It's simple," he said casually, still smiling. "First you have to stop being so uptight." With this his hand reached up to her face to remove her glasses. He took them off and placed them on a nearby chair.

"Wha—" But her protests were cut off when America's hands went to her hair. Gently, he removed all the accessories holding it in place.

America's smile grew. He realized how much he liked seeing the gold of England's hair tumbled down her head to frame her face. Without really realizing what he was doing, he tenderly combed through her hair with his fingers, making fall more naturally across her back.

England didn't resist his touch but he saw her form stiffen. Realizing how awkward his actions were for her, he touched her hair one last time before pulling his hand back. "There," he said, indicating that he was done with that.

"Alfred," England murmured. "I don't—"

"Now," he interrupted, not giving her a chance to stop the next part of his plan, "you just have to smile."

She looked at him carefully. "I don't smile without good reason."

"Then what can I do to help?" he asked encouragingly.

England turned her gaze away from him, looking as if in deep thought. When she looked back at him, she seemed to have made up her mind on something.

"I can think of only one thing you can do at the moment. You see, I don't really like the feeling of owing you anything, so if you could let me pay you back, then that would give me one less thing to worry about."

"Hmm. I don't remember you owing me any—" he was cut off as England leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips.

England was blushing by the time she broke the kiss, determined to ignore America's questioning look.

"Wait," he sputtered in confusion. "You kissed me...?"

"Yes, I did," she murmured.

"But...but I thought you said I didn't have a place in your heart anymore."

"I just realized," England replied softly. "That I didn't make sense when I said that. You never needed a place in my heart, Alfred. As cliché as this sounds, my heart has always been completely yours. Just...please," she gave him a pleading look, "tell me I can trust you to take care of it this time."

America was speechless. His mind thought back to when they first met and progressed through all the things they had been through together. His thoughts finally settled on the time he first broke her heart, the first time he saw her cry. He wasn't going to make that mistake again.

"Don't worry," he said, almost to himself. "The next time I make you cry, it'll be tears of joy."

England's eyes lit up and the corners of her mouth slowly turned up to form a smile. America found himself transfixed all over again.

***

**AN: And it's done! Thanks to everyone for reading 'The Portrait' and to all my friends (who probably won't even read this message) for giving me ideas and getting me out of my writer's block. **

**Hope everyone liked the epilogue. Thanks again for the support :) Er, and sorry for all the cheesy lines. **


	10. The Spanish are Coming

**Author's Note: Sorry for taking long with this (again) and for the fact that it probably isn't my best work. Also, even though it is set during the Elizabethan Era, I didn't use old English. I hope you all enjoy it anyway. **

**PS. This is loosely based on Plate Captain's suggestion on pirate!England. Sadly though, I didn't think I could pull off pirate-speak so I went this this.**

*******

Anne Kirkland hadn't walked the palace halls for at least three months but, surprisingly, she didn't find herself missing them. Neither did she really find herself yearning for the formalities and protocol of court life. It wasn't the way of living she was used to having anymore.

She had only returned from sea a day ago but she found herself already impatient to get back on her ship and leave for another distant shore. Ever since Her Majesty had given her permission (not to mention the funding) to become a privateer a year ago, she had rarely been seen in court.

Instead, she had nearly driven her crew mad, constantly making them sail nonstop from England, to places like France, Spain, Ireland, Portugal, Scotland and back again. Her main purpose for those visits was usually trade but once or twice (okay, maybe a lot of times) she found herself picking a fight with unsuspecting trade ships just to spite earlier-mentioned countries. She was proud to say she hadn't lost an impromptu naval battle yet.

Ignoring the curious looks of unfamiliar servants, she made her way to the queen's audience room, smoothing down the front of her dress in an effort to look presentable. Another thing she had to get used to upon her return, the complicated thing they called fashion. She certainly didn't remember these dresses being so itchy and hard to wear before.

Upon reaching of the audience room, she gave the guards a nodded order to open the door for her. After confirmation from inside the room that her presence was expected, they did as she asked. She walked in with her back straight and her head high, inwardly reminding herself to walk less like a seaman and more like a lady in court.

Anne was announced as she entered and she was glad to hear the title of 'Captain' before her name. She walked toward the front of the room where the queen was seated and gave her best curtsy.

"Your Majesty," she said with a sweet smile. "I'm honoured to be in your presence." Queen Elizabeth seemed hardly changed during the year of her absence, but physically her face looked just a bit older. She blamed it on the stress the other countries' leaders had been putting on her, especially that blasted Spain and his King Philip II.

"You've always been the flatterer Lady Kirkland," her queen said with an amused smile. "But you know quite well that we have serious business to discuss."

"Serious business, Your Majesty?" she asked innocently, thinking that this had to be about that French ship she accidentally set on fire after an unplanned skirmish.

"Yes," the queen nodded, suddenly looking thoughtful. "Please, leave us," she commanded to the others in the room. As they exited, Anne walked closer toward the queen, all the while trying to think of a way to talk herself out of any sort of reprimand.

The queen was the first to speak when the room was finally empty. "Anne, I think you are already aware of what we need to talk about. It's of a naval nature so I'm sure you are quite informed with the status of the situation."

"Your Majesty, I assure you that any action I have taken against that trade ship had a good reason. Those French toads were asking for it, accusing me of stolen cargo—"

"Wait," the queen interrupted. "French? I was talking about the Spanish. Don't tell me you've started another naval conflict with yet another foreign country. I do not need any of _that _right now."

"Oh, forget I said anything then," Anne said quickly, realizing her mistake. Then, registering the rest of that statement said, "What was that about Spain, Your Majesty?"

"Anne," the queen said, her voice growing louder with exasperation. "Spain...that armada they been planning to send our way! How long has it been since you've gotten word of any news?"

"About a month, I believe," she answered, calm slipping at the mention of the armada. It took her a while before she realized the queen meant that question to be rhetorical. "The armada has finally sailed?" The English had known about Spain's armada for about a year now, but they had delayed it ever since by attacking it at harbour and through methods of sabotage.

"Yes," the queen confirmed, her tone growing impatient and worried, "since earlier this month. Lord Howard and his men have been unsuccessfully trying to break their formation with attacks from our own fleet. I called you here because I was hoping you've managed to learn something new during your trips to Spain."

"I..." Anne stuttered, surprised with the news. "I am dreadfully sorry for being uninformed, Your Majesty. I assure you, I would've learned about this sooner had I not been held up with my trading excursion at France."

Queen Elizabeth sighed. "It doesn't matter anymore, Anne. All we can do now is try to avoid an invasion, the thought of which I'm sure you despise as much as I do."

England nodded in agreement, silently thinking about how much she hated Spain and his armada. "Is there any way I can help?" she asked, eager for vengeance and an opportunity to make up for her startling ignorance. "My ship is at port, full armed and ready to render any assistance to the crown. I can also assure you that my crew and I have well enough experience with naval battles so—"

"Yes, Anne," the queen said, smiling in amusement once more. "I've heard about your infamous attacks on foreign ships at sea. Honestly...you will get me into a war one day if you don't stop." The queen's voice was supposed to sound authoritative but it was softened by the laughter the queen was apparently holding in. "Half of the court thought me mad to give you a ship, saying a lady would be too soft to be a privateer. Then, after your first month at sea, they all thought me mad for letting your terror loose upon all of Europe."

Anne smiled, pleased to see that she was still endeared to her queen as a person. "Then you will consider my proposal? Will you give me and my crew permission to assist in defending England against the armada?"

The queen seemed to think about this for another moment before she nodded. "But I order you to promise that in no way will you ever put yourself in any imminent danger. Your safety must always be first priority. I won't have you captured by those Spanish scoundrels."

She put her right hand up dramatically with a look of half-seriousness on her face. "I swear in the name of my Queen as both Anne and England, that the Spanish shall not lay a hand on me."

Queen Elizabeth's smile seemed to deepen into something more sincere. "I shall hold you to that then, England." After a moment the queen said, "For some reason, I feel better about this whole situation already."


	11. The Quest for America's Heart

**AN: A two-shot featuring fem!France AKA Jeanne. I wrote this to fulfill a request I got some time ago for a fem!England, fem!France fic. **

**Main pairing is still AmericaxEngland. Warning though, it's crack. :)**

**Hope you all enjoy. **

**PS. It's on an alternate storyline from 'The Portrait'. **

*******

Anne thought it was going to be another ordinary bunch of meetings (by ordinary she meant 'crazy beyond all comprehension') but little did she know that things were going to be different this time around. Thanks to a certain Jeanne, this set of meetings was even crazier.

It all started with a certain challenge. Sitting in her chair that first day of the meeting, not minding anyone else's business, England soon found herself in a very interesting conversation with France.

"_Angleterre_, I think it is time you finally make your move with _Amérique._" Anne could recognize the mischievous tone in her voice even if it was only as soft as a whisper.

Confused, her brows immediately furrowed. "Excuse me?"

An irritating chuckle came from the Frenchwoman's lips as she sat down on the vacant chair beside her. "Oh don't deny it, Anne. It's the most obvious thing in the world! It's common knowledge to almost all the countries...except North Italy and the object of your affections, himself. How dense he is..."

England felt herself blushing but she rolled her eyes in an attempt to save her dignity. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Did you say something about Italy and the object of his affections?"

France looked pointedly at her this time. "_Angleterre_, _must_ I spell it out for you? Your feelings for him have long been due to be confessed! You and _Amérique!_ You cannot let your love remain hidden—" At this point, Anne had stuffed a purse inside Jeanne's mouth.

"Can youshut _up?_" England whispered angrily. "I do not have _feelings_ for America. I never had and I never will."

France's eyebrows rose up in interest at this statement. "Ah, I see what the problem is here," she said after clearing her mouth of the purse.

"What?" England asked, wondering what she had deduced.

"You," France said with a smirk, "are afraid of rejection."

"I am _not_ afraid of rejection. I'm not afraid of anything! I just don't like America, alright?"

"Well, I must agree with you at that point. You don't 'like' him, you _love_ him."

England opened her mouth to protest but France overrode her.

"But you have nothing to be afraid of, _Angleterre, _really. I'm sure Alfred is very easy to please...what with your history of romantic tension! Well, since you are so reluctant, I'll prove it to you. I bet you that within this week of meetings I will get _Amérique _to ask me out."

"I am _not _making a bet with you, Jeanne. I don't see what the—"

"If I win, you lose your chances with him for as long as his relationship with me will last. If I don't, he's all yours again."

"I don't _want_ America!"

"Of course you do. Now, to be fair--since the poor boy doesn't stand a chance when it comes to my advances--you are free to interfere by getting him to ask _you _out. Though, I doubt there will be any chance of _that_," Jeanne scoffed.

England crossed her arms over her chest. "I am not making a bet over _America_."

"Why? Afraid you'll lose something? If he really means so much to you, why don't you just _ask _me to back off?"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I don't have _any_ romantic interest in America?"

"Then just accept the bet. It's not like it'll do any harm to you." France smiled provokingly.

"Fine, I accept...but this is just to show you that I don't care about America, or his love life," England agreed, grudgingly.

France's smile grew wider. "Very good. Now this is where my fun starts." She then stood up and left to stay in her proper seat.

After Jeanne was a good distance away, England thought over what had just happened. Then, she spent the next five minutes banging her head on the table. _What have I done? _she thought to herself, hoping with each bump on the table that she would wake up from her nightmare.

***

_Day One- Oh shoot, what have I gotten myself into?_

It had only been an hour after the bet, but France seemed to be set on not wasting any time. Glancing across the table (where America and France were seated), England face was burning in livid fury. Somehow, France had managed to convince Lithuania to switch places with her so that she was now seated beside America.

During the whole period of the meeting, Jeanne had been listening intently to Alfred as they told each other amusing stories to pass the time. England could see her laughing with him after each joke he told. She could also see how France suggestively touched America's arm when they were laughing together, each instance of which she counted just so she could vent her anger.

_She did it again._ England mentally noted, seeing France's hand on America's arm for the 11th time. France was getting on her nerves but it wasn't like she could let the toad have the satisfaction of seeing her make a scene...over America. The best (and only) way England could let herself express her frustration at the moment was to tighten her grip on whatever she was holding. At the moment, it was a blue ballpoint pen. Apparently, the pen was also very fragile since it suddenly broke into clean halves with a very loud snap.

Surprised at the sudden sound, the rest of the world quickly transferred their attentions towards her general direction. With a whispered curse, she quickly hid the broken pen in her briefcase, not really caring about the mess of ink it made.

When everyone was looking away, she glanced across the table again and saw the sly smile playing on France's lips. While she was still watching, Jeanne suddenly turned toward America and whispered something into his ear. After a moment, they both looked at her and laughed.

England looked away, her cheeks burning. Oh how she _hated _France at the moment.

***

_Day Two- Things can't get any worse than this, right? _

England did _not _want to go to the meeting today even if she knew she was going to, anyway. It had only been a day but she was quite sure she could not handle any more of France and America...together. Anne _knew_ Jeanne was only doing this to piss her off but what annoyed her even more was the fact that America seemed so willing to play along. Maybe it was because he actually liked France...

Anne desperately shook that thought away as she entered the meeting room. The first person who greeted her just happened to be the person she wanted to see the least.

"So," France said immediately as England walked to her seat. "Ready to give up yet? You can ask me to stop the bet, you know that."

England felt _very_ tempted to do so, but the look on France's face was just so irritating that instead she said, "Why would I give up? It's not like I'm affected or anything."

France's smile grew. "I thought so. Anyway, enjoy the meeting."

"Yeah, you too," England growled under her breath bitterly. One day, she was going to get Jeanne for this...just she wait.

The meeting was just as torturous as the last, if not more so. This time, America and France were right _beside _her and she could see (and hear) every little exchange they made. England tried to forget the conversation they had about Lady GaGa and her songs, it was just too disturbing, knowing France.

When they were all finally dismissed, England stayed behind in the meeting room so that she would no longer have to see America and France talking on their way to Alfred's car. From what she had heard, America was going to drop off France at her hotel before going home himself.

Making sure that everyone had finally left the building, England got ready to leave. Just as she was about to exit the door, she caught sight of a folder on the table in front of the room. It seemed obvious that it belonged to America since it was labelled 'Fast Food Hotlines, Hero Things, and Boring Meeting Stuff'. Seeing that it was related to the meeting, she thought it could be something important. After a long moment of hesitation, she decided to drive over to America's house and give it to him. She just hoped France would be nowhere in sight by then.

England took the thirty minute drive toward America's house. Upon finally arriving, she got out of the car, took a deep breath, and rang the doorbell. Thirty seconds later, she heard the door unlock and open.

"Hey, Anne!" Alfred greeted enthusiastically. "'Sup?"

"Good afternoon, git," England replied. "I thought you might want this back." She held out the folder and he took it.

"Oh, this! Thanks England, France and I were just talking about how we wanted to order out."

"France?" England asked, shocked.

"Yeah, she's staying here 'til around nine. I'm going to take her back to the hotel after."

At that moment, Jeanne herself came into the scene. "_Amérique_, who is at the door? Oh, it's you _Angleterre!_ How surprising to see you here!"

"France," England greeted stiffly.

"Anne was just dropping off the folder I left behind," America explained. "Now we can order McDonalds!"

"_Fantastique!_ Alfred and I needed something to eat. Discussing our countries' trade _relationship_ is very tiring," Jeanne gushed, putting an emphasis on 'relationship'.

England gritted her teeth. "Glad to be of service, then." She then turned to leave.

"Hey wait, England," America called out. "You don't want to stay?"

She turned around, glaring at France as she replied, "No. Thanks." Each word she emphasized with a pause.

"'Kay, then," America shrugged, as dense as ever. "Thanks again for dropping off the folder."

England nodded once before walking (not stomping, mind you) to her car.

***

_Day Three- The schemer's guide: How to get England to spill. _

America picked France up from the hotel so they could drive together to the meeting. He wasn't sure how he had gotten entwined in her plans to mentally torture England but now that he was part of it all, he could no longer back out.

France had asked him on the day this had all started whether England's opinion mattered to him. After much denial he had to admit, he _did _want to know what Anne thought of him after all these years. So Jeanne had proposed that they try to get a reaction out of her by annoying her to no end. According to France, seeing them getting along together would do the trick, though he wasn't exactly sure how.

He drove to the front of the hotel where France was already waiting. Alfred waited for her to get in and fasten herself down before he started driving again. "So, what's the plan for today?"

"Today," France said with a smile. "We will force our company on _Angleterre_, while still acting like the _best _of friends, of course. No matter how badly she tries to get rid of us, we have to keep her close. Like yesterday, she just _hated_ having to sit beside us and feel out of place."

America thought this over for a moment. "Are you sure this is the right way to do it? I don't think making England mad is really the best solution. Can't we just _ask_ her what's her opinion of me?"

"I've already _tried_ that, _Amérique. _Besides, she is a stubborn one. She doesn't like to admit her feelings so openly."

"Wait, why does this matter so much to _you _again?"

France sighed. "I'm the country of love, remember?"

"I don't get the connection."

Jeanne's palm met her face. "Honestly...you are as dense as she is! She's in love with you, obviously."

"What?!" America hit the brakes so hard that the wheels screeched. Frustrated drivers around them honked their horns so loudly that he had to start driving again.

"_Oui, _it's true."

"Are...are you sure?"

He could see France nod. "It's all just a matter of waiting for her to confess her love," she said, looking mischievous again.

"So," America deduced out loud, "you were trying to get her jealous with me so that she would confess?"

"Yes. You finally understand, _mon cheri_."

America didn't reply, thinking everything through in silence. Was France really telling the truth? Did England really like him, like him? If so, what should he do about it? Sure, he liked England and what she thought of him really mattered but...love? It was all so confusing!

"So..." France seemed to be prompting.

"So?"

"Can I still count on your help?" she asked.

Alfred thought for another moment before nodding. "Yeah, sure," he replied, not exactly sure what he wanted to know at the moment.

***

_Day Four-Merlin's pants! What does she think she's doing?_

_Yesterday was horrible_, England though, recalling how America and France had insisted on spending the day with her...while still being completely fixed on each other. If that was what that frog had planned for her yesterday, she dreaded what was going to be in store for today.

She entered the building from the basement entrance and used the elevator to get to the meeting room floor. Anne found herself treasuring the solitude of being alone in the elevator, at least she could forget about Jeanne and Alfred for the moment.

As the elevator progressed closer to her designated floor, she started hearing what she thought was music. By the time she reached her destination, the music seemed to be at its loudest. With a sudden feeling of dread forming at the pit of her stomach, she realized it was coming from the meeting room. Almost at the same time, she recognized the lyrics of the song.

_Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-Roma-ma-ah! Ga-ga-ooh-la-la! Want your bad romance._

Without another moment's hesitation, England burst into the room.

"Oh my..." she trailed off, her exclamation running dry on her lips.

There, almost right in front of her was France dancing Bad Romance...with America as her main audience. It was a small consolation that Jeanne wasn't _dressed_ as Lady GaGa.

_Okay, _England thought. _Now I'll take this game seriously. _

***

**AN: Sorry for that last part. The image of France singing that wouldn't leave my head. Anyway, it's not like she's doing it in a 'mature' way. She's kinda just singing and dancing to it. **

**Comments?**


	12. The Quest for America's Heart II

_Day four_- _Wanted: Equally determined accomplice._

It was needless to say that Germany was not amused with France's performance, especially not after Prussia and Spain started dancing as well. The first part of the meeting was therefore extended, which just meant more torture for England since she had to endure the smug look on Jeanne's face the whole time.

When she was not glaring at Jeanne with a look that could kill, she was busy scheming and plotting in her head about what she was going to do to ruin any chance France had with America. France (as much as England hated to admit it) had the advantage of seduction experience, beauty, and general appeal so Anne thought she needed an edge of her own.

She needed an accomplice, preferably someone she could convince to work for her cause without completely realizing it, someone who would have just as much reason to split them apart. Anne spent a good thirty minutes ruling out every Asian, European, African, and South American in the room and another thirty minutes to recall that one country above Alfred in the map. Canada, of course.

England tried to think of him as a possible accomplice. After a while she remembered Matthew's infatuation with Jeanne that traced back to his childhood. Matthew being Alfred's brother was just an added bonus. If she could use those feelings to get Canada jealous then he would no doubt be more than glad to help her.

Then the real games would begin.

***

_Day five- Are you familiar with the term 'sabotage'? _

Canada had no idea how he got himself into this mess. Yesterday he had just been minding his own business (being ignored, as usual) when he was caught in a conversation with England. Then, what started out to be an innocent discussion on maple syrup soon became him agreeing to work with England in some plan to break America and France apart.

He didn't usually mind his brother's business, but this time was different; it involved France. It wasn't that Canada was specifically affected in any way by the fact that America and France were becoming close and that by the end of the week (according to England) they would probably be going out, but he thought it would be in the best interest of his country if—alright, so maybe he was a bit jealous.

Still, he wasn't sure how England had gotten him to agree to this stunt in the first place.

"So I was thinking," Anne said, briefing him on their agenda. "America can't ask France out if he never gets the chance to even talk to her. So it hit me: we can keep them apart through sabotage."

"Er, England. No one is going to get hurt, right?" Canada asked nervously, taking a sip from his cup of coffee. They were in the building's lounge where they had agreed to meet before the other countries came.

"Of course not, that's why I'm cooling this cup of black coffee, so that France doesn't get burnt when I throw it at her face...by accident," England said slyly with a creepy chuckle.

Matthew was shocked. "What?"

"I saw her eating breakfast at the hotel restaurant with Prussia and Spain this morning and she was wearing a white blouse. It'll take her hours to clean off this stuff...not to mention the smell of it."

"I don't know England, it sounds like a bad idea."

"Goodness, Matthew. I'm only getting started, don't tell me you're going to back out now! Think about it: America and France, _together_. Do you think you can live with that?"

Canada thought it over but, in the end, had to shake his head, 'no'. He never actually thought he would ever admit how much Jeanne really meant to him.

***

_Since when did liking a girl get this complicated?_

America was eating lunch with Canada, since France had to drive back to the hotel with England to get a new shirt. England had offered to go with her when she had spilt black coffee on France's blouse. According to Jeanne, this was actually a good sign that England was making an effort to keep them apart.

Still, they were gone an awfully long time. The incident happened before the meeting even started and now, with the meeting halfway over, they still hadn't come back.

To distract himself, America decided to ask Canada a question that had been on his mind the past few days.

"Hey, Mattie. How do you know if you like someone? You know, like, love?" he asked as casually as he could manage. He wanted to make sure, before he asked England out, that what he felt for her was actually love. Alfred knew he cared about England more than anyone he could imagine, but how could he be sure that it was love and not just very, very deep concern?

Canada suddenly looked flustered. "Well, you care about them a lot."

"Well, duh," America replied as he placed a mental check mark on his 'signs-that-I'm-in-love-with-Anne' checklist. "What else?"

"You want them to notice you," Canada said, looking even more embarrassed.

America didn't really notice this since he was busy thinking about all the times he teased England just to get her attention...another check.

"You want to make them happy whenever you can and you want to see them smile," Matthew continued.

America recalled the signed Beatles album he gave England personally just to see her reaction. He remembered her giving him a quick hug for that too, giving him a blush of his own. Check number three.

"You find the person beautiful, even when they're at their worst mood swings."

Yeah, he _did _find England really adorable when she was angry, especially when that anger was directed at him.

"You think about them all the time."

America mentally rolled his eyes. He _so_ did not think about England all the time, maybe just sometimes. Okay, so maybe it was most of the time, but only because he was usually bored and he had nothing to do but daydream about how England looked _a lot_ like Lois Lane.

"And...well, there are a lot of other signs but the last one I can think of at the moment is that you don't want to see her _going out with someone else_." Canada said this last part with so much conviction that America couldn't help but be surprised.

"Wait, Mattie, do _you_ like someone?" he asked, looking interested.

Matthew blushed again. "N-no," he stuttered. "Why, do you?"

He tried imagining England dating Prussia or Spain and felt close to puking. It took him a few moments before he managed to shake his head. "No, not at all." So this was what denial felt like.

They stayed silent for the rest of the time until they heard Germany yelling at all of them to come back into the meeting room.

Canada took France's usual seat beside him and, when everyone else was settled down, the meeting resumed again. Ten minutes later, the door opened to reveal England and France.

"What took you two so long?" America asked sceptically.

"We," France said, sounding completely exasperated, "got _lost_ on the way back here."

Germany raised an eyebrow. "After five days of going back and forth from this place to wherever you're staying, how is that even possible?"

"Ask _Angleterre,_ she's the one that drove the car," France replied.

England shrugged. "The map in my car got lost and, you see, I have a _horrible _sense of direction. I took about...six wrong turns on the way here." America had to stop himself from smiling at hearing how pleased instead of upset Anne sounded at being late.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Germany said with a sigh. "Just take a seat in the remaining vacant chairs."

America watched the two glaring at each other as they took the two remaining seats. It was going to be a long day.

***

_Day six- It's just an invitation too tempting to ignore. _

"Hey guess what, guys?" England heard America's voice calling from the head of the table. "You know how my boss always has these formal parties after big meetings with your bosses?"

The other nations nodded or gave their respective signs of affirmation.

"Well," America continued. "I had this really long talk with my boss and...he finally agreed to let us attend!"

Many of the nations cheered. They had been banned from formal parties with their bosses ever since the incident fifteen years ago when China accidentally set off fireworks near the punch bowl and everyone thought it was a terrorist attack.

England, meanwhile, was busy trying to hide her panic. While America was busy explaining what else his boss told him, Anne signalled Matthew to come to where she was seated so that she could tell him what the matter was.

"Canada, this is what America--if he ever gets the chance--might ask France out to. You know, I bet he asked his boss to let us all go to this party on Jeanne's account. I for one will _not _stand for it."

"So...we're going to have to keep sabotaging?" Matthew asked, looking nervous.

"Of course we are. It worked so well yesterday and I'm pretty sure that if we just keep at it, we'll get what we want."

England ignored the stuttering protests Canada made and turned her attention to Germany, who had taken over the meeting again. If things went her way, France would be forced to stay away from America for good.

***

_Desperate situations call for desperate measures._

Canada and England intended to spend the whole duration of the break keeping tabs on America and France, even if it meant standing on top of a large rock to peak into a window.

They had followed Alfred and Jeanne to the first floor of the building but, finding themselves unable to enter the empty room the two had gone into without looking suspicious, were forced to spy on them from the outside of the building.

"What are they doing now?" England asked him, as only one person at a time could peek through the small gap between the drawn window curtains.

"Talking," Canada replied. "I can hear a bit of the conversation."

"What are they saying?"

"Something about cars...hold on, America changed the topic."

"Well, don't leave me hanging, what—"

Canada suddenly turned to look at her with an expression of dread on his face. "He said something about the formal party, and whether she was going with anyone."

"Oh shoot," England exclaimed before jumping off the rock. "Come on, Matthew. We have to interrupt their little chat."

Before he could stop her, England rushed into the building and Canada had no choice but to follow. When he caught up with Anne, she was already pushing open the door of the room America and France were in.

"_Angleterre," _he heard France greet England. "To what do we owe this surprise?"

"There's a spider on the loose, very poisonous," Anne said very seriously. Canada never knew England had a knack for acting. Even if the excuse was ludicrous she made it look very believable.

"A s-spider?" America stuttered.

England nodded. "Yes, it's black, yellow and has really big fangs. Australia brought it with him from his country and, well, it got out of its cage. So if we can evacuate the room—"

"Wait a minute," France interrupted. "Australia didn't bring a spider to the meeting."

"Well if you don't believe me, help me look for it so I can prove it to you," England argued, already pushing America and Canada out of the room. "Canada and America can wait outside just in case the spider kills both of us and goes out of the room."

"_Kills_ you?" America asked in disbelief, looking pale from shock.

"Yes," England said hurriedly, giving them a final push out of the room. "Alright, see you then, goodbye." When the door was slammed shut America urgently asked Canada, "Is there really a poisonous spider in there?"

Canada shook his head and America gave a sigh of relief. "Phew, I thought they would really get killed. Why did England want us out of the room?"

Matthew didn't know what to do. He had enough of these tricks but it wasn't like he was just going to give up his chances with Jeanne. With a sudden surge of courage he decided to talk everything out with America and see if they could settle this cordially. They were brothers, after all.

"England didn't just want you out of the room. She was helping me stop you from asking Jeanne out," he confessed, looking at the ground.

Alfred was confused. "Asking Jeanne out?"

"Yeah, I mean, I'm sorry I tried to stop you two from going to the formal party together. I-I just really like Jeanne and well, yeah, but if you really like her too then I won't get in the way or anything. Alfred, you two seem to have fun together and—"

"Hold up, Mattie. I don't like France, at least not in that way."

"Yeah, I know what I did was wrong and—wait, what did you just say?"

"I'm not in love with Jeanne," Alfred repeated. "She and I were only hanging out to make England jealous because France said that it would make her confess her feelings for me or something. Jeanne says it's actually working."

"So when we were talking about being in love with someone...you were talking about England?" Matthew asked, trying to clear the last of his confusion up.

America nodded. "I just wanted to make sure I was feeling the real thing."

"And?"

"And...I came to the dramatic conclusion that, yes, I do like, like Anne. I'm planning on asking her out to that formal party tomorrow. I just need her to stop trailing France and me so that I can actually work up the right atmosphere to ask her."

"Hmm," Canada thought. "Any way I can help?"

America looked contemplative for a minute. "As a matter of fact, I think it's time for a bit of scheming of our own. What do you say to asking Jeanne out to the party tomorrow?"

***

_Day Seven- Who knew it would end up like this?_

England stood on the large rock, watching through the window as America and France talked. Interrupting them a second time wasn't going to work so all she could do was helplessly watch and listen to the faint sounds of their conversation.

When she heard America ask France to the formal party, she could almost swear she felt her heart break. Seeing the triumph on Jeanne's face was honestly just too much to bear. She hated her. She hated her. She hated her...

France hugged America before opening her mouth to reply to his invitation. England felt like she couldn't listen to anymore of this but she forced herself to.

"Of course I'll go with you. I've been waiting a long time for you to ask me out, Matthew," she heard Jeanne reply happily.

So this was the end of it. France won the bet and she lost her chances with America until—did France just call America Matthew?

"Eavesdropping much, Anne?" she heard a familiar voice behind her. England turned around so suddenly that she fell from the rock. She closed her eyes, expecting to meet the ground, only to be caught by a pair of strong arms.

"A-Alfred?" she asked. "But I thought—"

"You thought I was Matthew, didn't you?" Alfred said with a smile, helping her up. "Well I could've saved you the surprise if you just stopped following France all day. I mean, I've been planning to ask you since this morning but I had the feeling you would be spying on me all day and it would feel really awkward to—"

"Ask me what?" Anne asked suddenly. Did she dare hope?

"Well, the formal party is tonight and I know it's a short notice, but...would you like to, you know, go with me?"

England had to stop herself from smiling like a bloody git. "A-Alright, Alfred. I'll go with you." She cursed her cheeks for blushing red at a time like this. "So..." she said to break the awkward silence that had come between them. "Jeanne and Matthew are going together?"

"Yup," Alfred confirmed. "It was only a matter of time, right?"

"Right," Anne agreed. "You know, I was only following you and France and doing all those crazy things just to help Matthew," she suddenly said, trying to save herself some dignity.

"Uhuh, sure Anne," America said in mock agreement, rolling his eyes.

England crossed her arms. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"Nope," America admitted. "I'll pick you up from the hotel at seven, tonight, does that sound good?"

England nodded, trying not to smile again. "I hope you won't be late."

America laughed. "Of course not. Until then..." he took something out of his pocket. It was a corsage of small, fragrant flowers which she slowly took from his hand.

"Until then," Anne repeated, finally letting herself smile as Alfred waved goodbye and headed back into the building.

***

**AN: Sorry that took so long, I had a couple of busy weeks :| Good news is though, I'm finally free, it's summer time! Okay, that definitely means more updates so I'll make up for this. **

**I feel like the last few 'days' in this chapter are a bit confusing...I hope it was an okay read anyway. :)**


	13. America and His Planes

"What did you have me so urgently drag myself here for, America?" England asked impatiently. She didn't exactly take well to being forced to fly to America on such short notice, especially since she was forced during the middle of the night by a certain American screaming annoyingly over the phone. Missing a good night's sleep and morning tea certainly did nothing to improve her horrible mood.

"It's a surprise," America replied, nearly tugging her arm off as he pulled her along. "Can't you walk faster, Anne? I really want you to see it so you can tell me what you think."

"All right, all right!" England yelled, quickening her pace. "Now stop getting your knickers in a twist and let go of my bloody arm!"

America just ignored this last request and walked even faster. England was forced to stop talking so she could keep up with him and avoid losing a much treasured limb.

They walked briskly (more like ran) to America's destination. England was hardly surprised when she was led to a plane hangar. So this was about one of America's beloved airplanes, again.

America kept walking, only stopping in front of a plane that, in England's most humble opinion, looked like it had been designed by a five year old.

"How is it?" America asked, turning to her. "I developed this new fighter plane. It's so awesome, don't you think?"

"You were in such a hurry to show me _this_?" England asked, not sure how to react. America nodded, looking back at the plane.

"Well," she said, finally answering. "I could never think of this sort of (retarded) design." She lowered her voice as she said the offensive word. "It really is (retardedly) you, America." She had to stop herself from laughing again.

"I'm glad you like the design, England," he said, turning to her again. "After all, I made half of these to beat you with."

"What?" England shrieked.

"Yeah," America said cheerfully. "Hey, want to go on a ride?"

England gritted her teeth and kept her fists at her sides, making great effort to look genuinely please when she said, "Of course I do."

***

Ten minutes later, civilians in the general area saw a ridiculous-looking plane cross the sky. Those who squinted swore they could see a man hanging on for dear life on the plane's outside. Those who bothered listening closely thought they heard the man screaming, "Anne, I was just kidding!"

Thinking it too ridiculous, most of them pretended not to notice a thing.

***

**AN: A continuation of one of the official strips/episodes. **

** I was thinking of doing something with the Anglo-Japanese alliance or that war wherein England and Prussia were allies. What do you guys think? **


	14. The Britannia Angel

"Everybody shut up so we can think of a solution to the climate issue already!" Germany, yelled across the table. Not surprisingly, he was ignored by almost everybody. All the other nations were either busy annoying one another or had already given up hope on achieving any progress for the day.

England was one of the latter. She had stopped caring about the meeting thirty minutes after it started and decided to preoccupy herself by drinking tea instead.

America was the only one who seemed to have heard Germany. "Well, if you didn't reject all my cool, heroic ideas then maybe we could've stopped global warming by now."

"For the last time America," Germany said with a sigh. "Making a giant hero ice sculpture to cool down deserts is not going to work."

"If you aren't going to take any of my suggestions then you might as well be asking for a miracle," America retorted with a pout.

At the word 'miracle' England slammed her teacup down on the table and nearly spat out her tea. France noticed this and stopped exchanging jokes with Prussia to give England a meaningful look.

England glared back. France was one of the only countries who knew about her little secret and if word ever got out that she could provide those miracles America just mentioned, she would never hear the end of it.

France just smiled mischievously in reply. "Excuse me _Allemagne_, _Amérique_," he said slyly, raising his voice so everyone can hear. "If a miracle is what we need I think arrangements can be made."

Everyone turned to look at France. "What do you have in mind, aru?" China asked, coming out from under the table where he had been hiding from Korea.

"It's simple really. If all of us ask for a miracle, we might just get one," France said, ignoring England's pleading looks for him to stop.

"I don't see what that's going to accomplish," Austria said sceptically. England nodded desperately to agree with him.

France shrugged. "What have we got to lose? Anyone in favour of a miracle say 'aye'."

A loud chorus of reluctant 'ayes' followed. England looked ready to kill France. She didn't get a chance to actually do this because a moment later a bright flash of white light filled the room. When the light disappeared she wasn't England anymore but the Britannia Angel.

"Woah, what happened?" America asked, looking around in confusion. The Britannia Angel could feel all the countries stares slowly directing themselves at her direction.

America was, as always, the first one to react violently. "Who in the world are you...and where did England go?"

So, the bloody git didn't recognize her...that was a good sign. If only France would stop snickering then maybe no one would ever have to find out she was actually England.

"I am the Britannia Angel," she said, giving the necessary introduction. "I heard someone needed a miracle so I came to help."

"So you grant wishes?" Prussia asked, acting as if he was actually meant to be in the meeting.

She nodded.

"Awesome. I wish Germany could never send me out of a meeting again. Go on, make it happen," he said in a bossy way.

"Prussia! We don't have time for your insignificant wish, we need the miracle to solve the global warming crisis," Germany argued.

"Er, just to warn you all that I can only grant one miracle with each visit I pay you," she said. Well, the rule didn't actually exist but she hoped making this excuse would save her some trouble.

"You don't go by the three wishes rule?" America asked. "That's just so unfair."

"I am not a bloody genie," she snapped. "Anyway, just tell me what miracle you want me to grant you so that I can get out of this stupid toga—I mean, go help others."

"Hm," Austria cut in. "Global warming is a pretty big thing to trust a stranger with, especially one in a suspicious costume. Why don't we ask her to grant something simple now? Then, if it works out alright, we can ask for another miracle another time."

"I agree," Japan said. A few others nodded.

"Okay, I'll ask for something simple. I wish I had the biggest burger in the world all to myself," America called out.

"Hey!" Romano yelled. "Why do you get the wish?"

"Yeah, that's really unfair."

"I want to make the wish."

"Everybody, quiet!" the angel shouted. They all stopped arguing to listen to what she had to say.

"Why don't you all write your wish down on a piece of paper, with your names, and I can look through it to see who deserves the miracle?" she suggested.

They all decided that this was a very good idea and they started passing around the paper immediately.

***

The Britannia Angel took a deep breath before reading the list. If she could grant wishes for herself, she would've asked for a way to get herself out of this. Sadly, she couldn't change back to her normal form without granting at least one wish.

The first wish on the paper was from America, as expected.

_I wish I had an unlimited supply of burgers. –America_

She was _not _going to grant that one. She went through the rest of the list quickly.

_I wish you came to the next meeting wearing that outfit.-France _

_PS. What would you say to coming over tonight, _mon cheri?

No way in the world would she agree to that one.

_I wish I had bowl of pasta that never runs out. –Feli_

She suddenly realized how alike America and Italy were.

_I request that Italy learn to protect himself so I wouldn't have to do that for him. –Germany_

That sounded reasonable enough. Then again, that would give Italy a tactical advantage in upcoming conflicts. Not a good idea to mess with the balance of power.

_I wish everyone would become one with me. –Russia (kolkolkolkol)_

No. Just...no.

_I wish jerk-England would acknowledge me as a country. –Sealand_

Goodness, what kind of country does he think he's going to be with a population of four? Besides, he wasn't even supposed to be in this meeting.

_I ask that Korea stay ten feet away from me at all times. – Japan_

She might just grant this one, it sounded harmless.

_I wish Korea would stay twenty feel away from me at all times. –China, aru_

It would be unfair to grant Japan's if China was asking for almost the exact same thing.

_I wish Germany would be forced to acknowledge my awesome. –Prussia (AKA The Awesome)_

As if Prussia needed someone to fan his giant ego. 

_I wish I had a bigger, harder frying pan. –Hungary_

She thought about granting this one but then realized that there was a possibility that the bigger, harder frying pan would be used against her.

_I want that potato-freak to stay away from my brother. –South Italy_

Romano probably didn't realize that Germany was his brother's only form of protection.

_I wish everyone brought me burgers every day. –USA _

Didn't America already make a wish?

_I wish people would stop forgetting me. –Canada_

Who's Canada? She was definitely not going to grant a wish from someone she didn't know.

_I wish people would believe me when I tell them that everything comes from Korea. –Korea_

_PS. Did you know wishes originated from Korea?_

She was certainly not going to let Korea get away with claiming that the Beatles, Harry Potter and every other British thing came from Korea.

_I wish brother and I were married, married, married. –Belarus_

Belarus was creepy, really creepy. She wasn't going to make Russia go through that, even if he did want everyone to be one with him.

_I wish Mr. Russia would move away. Far, FAR way. –Latvia (and Estonia, and Lituania)_

Sadly, Russia was too big a country for even her magical powers to move.

The list went on (and on, and on). She couldn't grant any of these ridiculous wishes, not unless she wanted all the other countries to get upset and start World War III. Helplessly, she browsed through the list again, hoping she would find some sensible (yet harmless) wish she could grant with a clean conscience.

In a fit of desperation she slammed the paper face-down on the table. Then she noticed some words written in small handwriting at the very bottom of the back page.

_I wish brother and I can have time to take a walk in the park after the meeting. _

_Thank you,_

_Liechtenstein. _

This wish was something, inarguably, completely different from what everybody else asked of her. No one could blame her if she decided to choose this one, it was sweet, innocent, and it wasn't going to hurt anybody.

"Okay, I have made my decision," she called out. Everyone turned their attention to her.

She decided to explain her choice before she announced it. "It wasn't really easy to choose from all your wishes. Some of them were too insane and some involved affecting someone else's life in a way they might not like. In the end, I decided to choose the wish I thought to be the most pure in terms of intentions. So, congratulations, Liechtenstein. Consider your wish granted."

With another blinding flash of white light, the Britannia Angel returned to her true form. England rushed to go near the door so it would look like she was just coming in.

***

"I can't believe you missed it, England. There was a _real_ angel in the meeting room," America said for the nth time.

England sighed. "Yes Alfred, I'm sure it was very exciting. Now can we please talk about something else?"

Just then, Liechtenstein and Switzerland passed by. England had to admit that it warmed her heart to make someone genuinely happy.

"That kid sure is lucky," America said, looking at them as well. "Anyway, I guess she deserved it, the angel said so at least."

England just nodded silently, a small smile still on her face.

***

The phone rang in the middle of the night.

"Hello?"

"_Angleterre_, I was wondering whether you considered my re—"

_Click_.

Grumbling a few curse words, England went back to bed. Before falling back to sleep completely, she gave a whispered instruction to her fairy friends to make everyone conveniently forget that the Britannia Angel ever existed.

***

**AN: Random Britannia Angel fic is random. I hope it wasn't too insane. **

**Anyway, the Anglo-Japanese alliance is coming up tomorrow (if all goes well). I only read your comments when I was almost done with this so I decided to post this and do that for the next chapter. **

**Thanks for reading, everyone :)**

_PS. Allemagne_ = Germany


	15. Beating Culture Shock

**AN: Okay, here is the promised chapter on the Anglo-Japanese alliance. Sorry for the fail explanation on the tea ceremony and for my awkward use of Japanese :| I was never good at picking up Japanese. What happened to England in this fic (using the wrong word) happened to me more than one time. **

**Oh and a necessary note for anyone who doesn't know the meaning of the honorifics –san and –chan. –San is for people you aren't really close to, it's used to show respect.**

–**Chan on the other hand is used for someone you find endearing. I think that my usage of –chan in this fic could be a little awkward...but like I said, I'm not very good at Japanese. **

**Anyway, hope you guys enjoy reading. :) **

***

England spent her first three days in Japan with her ambassadors before her boss decided to make her stay with Kiku for the duration of her visit to improve diplomatic ties and learn more about genuine Japanese culture. It didn't take her long to realize that learning Japanese culture second-hand was completely different from experiencing the real thing.

***

When Japan invited her to tea, England certainly did not expect having to kneel on a mat, in front of a very short, very small table.

"Drinking tea in Japan," Kiku explained, "is not too different with how you do it in England, _Igirisu-san_."

England nodded. "Hmm, I see." So did that mean she could just pour herself a cup? And where was the milk and sugar?

"We do it very formally in a ceremony," Japan continued. England felt the confusion show on her face.

"A ceremony?" So this was like high tea with the Queen...except the teacups had no handles...and they were kneeling on a mat...and there was no milk or sugar. Well, that sounded easy enough.

"_Hai. _It's a very long and complicated one so I will just simplify."

She felt all confidence evaporate.

"First, I pour the tea," Japan said, doing just that. England never realized that Japanese tea could actually be so different from the kind she drank in England.

"Then, we take the tea cup with the right hand and place it on the left palm." As Japan said this, he demonstrated the action. England followed but felt as if her cup was going to fall off at any moment.

"Alright," she said awkwardly.

"We then turn it to the right three times," Japan continued, turning his cup as if it was the most natural thing in the world. England felt like she was doing everything wrong...since when did turning a cup become part of a tea ceremony?

"Now we drink the tea. It's usually found polite to slurp at the last sip."

"Why?" England found herself asking. Despite what Japan said, this was nothing similar to afternoon tea at her country. Slurping even meant something completely opposite here.

"Because it means you liked the tea and wanted more," Japan explained patiently before starting on his tea. England did the same. The taste wasn't exactly what she was used to but it was pleasant all the same.

"When you're done," he continued, having finished his tea faster than she did, "you wiped the part of the cup you drank from then turn it to the left once. After that, you can return it to host."

England did her best to follow these instructions. Happy that it was finally done, she thought it would be the proper time to thank Japan. Now if only she could remember how to say 'thank you' in Japanese.

"_Konnichiwa," _she almost asked, wondering whether she was using the right word. It only took her a moment (and Japan's curious expression) to realize that she had said the wrong thing.

"I think you meant '_arigatou'_," Japan corrected kindly.

England groaned. "I'm sorry Kiku, I keep ending up doing exactly the wrong thing here. I can't adapt here as well as you did when you visited my country. I'd apologize in your language if my accent wasn't so atrocious."

Japan gave her a soft smile. "You're doing quite well, _Igirisu-san._ Contrary to what you just said, I believe I had more difficulty in your country than you are having with mine."

England felt grateful for Japan's comments but she felt like none of it was true. "You don't have to comfort me. I know I'm doing a horrible job on picking up your culture. Besides, you fit right in at England. How you could have had difficulty there?"

"One thing I had difficulty in was your meals, with all the utensils and formalities. We have a much simpler way of doing it here, if you've noticed," Japan explained.

"That's true. We do have an awful lot of utensils and rules. Still, I don't think my country can survive a week with only chopsticks," England replied, remembering every meal she had so far in Japan in which she ended up having to jab her sushi with her chopsticks because she didn't know how to use them. "Japan...would you mind teaching me how to eat with chopsticks properly when we're done?"

***

"Well first you grip one chopstick between your thumb and longest finger. You keep that one steady."

England tried to copy Japan's example but felt like she was doing something wrong. "Is this right?" she asked, showing him how she held it.

"It's better to hold it closer to the wider end," Japan said, taking her hand to correct her grip. "Much like how you hold a pen. Then, you place the other chopstick under your thumb as well."

"Like this?"

Japan nodded. "You move only your longest finger in picking up food, like this." He demonstrated by picking up a piece of fish from the plate in front of them and eating it.

It wasn't as easy as it looked. England felt like the fish was too heavy for her weak grip to pick up. Her hand moving unsteadily, she soon lost her grip on the chopsticks.

"Here, let me help," Japan volunteered. He walked around the table and sat behind England. He took her hand and used his own to direct hers properly. When England's chopsticks had finally gotten a firm hold on some fish, Japan let go of her hand so she practice the correct grip on her own. England triumphantly popped the fish into her mouth.

"Delicious," England commented after swallowing the fish. She slowly picked up another piece with her chopsticks and held it up to offer to Japan. She thought she saw a tinge of pink in Japan's cheeks as he opened his mouth to receive the fish.

***

Another thing Japan said he had difficulty in when he went to England was the attire which led England to suggest that she wear his people's clothes. It was her way of making up for all the culture shock Japan experienced in her country.

So the next morning, Japan took her to a place where she could find a kimono. After a few minutes of browsing the shop, she decided on a green one (which coincidentally matched the color of her eyes). The women in the shop who helped her put it on also put her hair up in a simple bun.

Satisfied with how she looked in the mirror, she went to ask Japan for his opinion. He was standing at the shop's doorway, probably intent on giving privacy as she tried on her new clothes.

"Kiku," she called as she walked closer to him. "Do I look alright?"

When Japan didn't reply immediately, she thought something might've been wrong. "I've made another mistake, haven't I?"

Japan vigorously shook his head. "_Gomennasai, Igirisu-san._ It's just...you look very different in a kimono."

"Oh," England said, relieved. "Not in a bad way, I hope."

Japan shook his head again. "Quite the opposite," he said, so softly that England almost didn't hear. Then he suddenly coughed twice and cleared his throat loudly. When he was done doing that he went to pay for the kimono. England wasn't exactly sure what just happened.

***

"'Good morning' is _ohayou gonzaimasu," _Japan explained.

"_Ohayou gonzaimasu," _England repeated feebly, still insecure about her accent. The language barrier was another major difference she and Japan thought they should overcome.

"And 'good night' is _oyasuminasai._"

"_Oyasuminasai."_

"Speaking of 'good night', it is getting pretty late, _Igirisu-chan," _Japan said, looking outside at the dark sky.

"Hmm," England said with a yawn. "I guess you're right."

"I will leave you to sleep then," he said, standing up to leave.

"Wait, can I ask just one more question?" England asked.

Japan stopped and nodded.

"Before you usually called me _Igirisu-san, _but just now you called me _Igirisu-chan_." She didn't know whether it was her imagination but Japan blanched. "What's the difference?" she asked curiously.

"I-it doesn't really make a difference," Japan stuttered. "It just slipped out, that's all."

"Oh," England said, satisfied with his answer. "_Oyasuminasai_ then, Kiku."

"_Oyasuminasai_," Japan replied softly, relieved she didn't insist on an explanation.


	16. The Boy Who Lived

**AN: To readers who don't really like Harry Potter, I apologize for making this chapter a crossover :| I don't think I'm going to do it again anytime soon. **

***

"I think she's a new professor," someone along the Gryffindor table murmured.

Harry looked at his friends. "D'you reckon?"

Hermione shook her head. "Dumbledore would've announced it along with the other staff changes."

"Queer though, isn't it," Ron said, joining in. "Why is she eating at the staff table if she isn't a professor?"

"I don't know," Hermione said with a shrug. A moment later she added. "She's looking at you, Harry."

Harry looked up from his roast chicken to look at the unknown woman at the staff table. Sure enough, a pair of vivid green eyes was looking curiously at him. He looked away before he could feel too awkward. When he looked back at the staff table, the woman was no longer looking.

"You think she has something against me?" he asked the two.

Ron shook his head, paying attention to the desserts that had just appeared in front of them. "She's probably just trying to look at your scar or something. You _are_ the famous Harry Potter, after all."

Hermione nodded in agreement, taking a spoonful of her pudding.

For some reason, Harry didn't feel convinced.

***

Anne sat on the chair opposite Dumbledore, trying to ignore the noise the portraits made around them.

"It's been too long since you've last been in my office, Anne," Dumbledore was saying, looking at her fondly through his half-moon glasses.

"Too true," she replied, taking a quick look around to see if anything big had changed. After a few moments, she turned back to him. Looking apprehensive, she asked the question that had been plaguing her mind. "Was that him, Headmaster? The thin, black-haired boy at the Gryffindor table?"

"You mean Harry?" Dumbledore asked, smiling softly.

She nodded.

"Yes, that was him. He looks an awful lot like James, doesn't he?"

She nodded absentmindedly. "Yes, only with Lily's eyes...but that wasn't really my point."

"What was your point then, Anne?" She tried to avoid those twinkling blue eyes that always seemed to look through her.

"What I meant to ask was...can he really do it? Finish off..."

"Voldemort?"

Anne couldn't help but wince involuntarily at the name.

Dumbledore gave a small chuckle. "Don't tell me a being like yourself is afraid of a single wizard!"

"It's...different when it comes to him. That single wizard has caused more terror in the hearts of my people than anything else that has ever happened in the magical realm before. That fear isn't something I can easily forget."

Dumbledore looked sympathetic. "You fear for Harry, then?"

Anne nodded. "He looks so young...are we really going to set him against the most powerful wizard in Britain, if not the world?"

"He's done it before." Dumbledore pointed out.

"Doesn't that just show that his luck is bound to run out sometime?" she reasoned.

"Ah," he replied. "But you of all people should know that luck is not the force underlying young Harry's victories against Voldemort."

Anne stopped herself from twitching. "You think love will be enough?"

Dumbledore met her gaze. "It has to be."

***

**AN: Sorry this was a day late, I was preoccupied the last two days. I wrote another chapter to make up for it but I don't really have time to post it today :| **

**I might have to skip another day sometime this week. I won't post a chapter so I can write a couple of chapters for my other fics.**

**So tomorrow that's two chapters. I think I'll do something about the wars France and England have been through (fighting against and/or with each other). That's it, I guess. **


	17. Crimes of Jack the Ripper

_1888, England--_

'_13 Miller's Court, off Dorset street, Spitalfields, London,' _the small scrawl on the piece of paper read. England glanced at it again before looking back up at the building in front of her. This should be the place.

She looked at her current surroundings one more time before she reached for the doorknob of the front door. She thought she felt someone staring at her, and she was right. A man not too far off was looking at her. She shrugged it off, thinking that a newcomer like her might look odd to almost everyone.

England took a deep breath before turning the doorknob and stepping into the building.

She was in the right place. Police officers were climbing up and down the building's narrow staircase. Noise and signs of activity seemed to be concentrated on a room at the next floor.

She made her way to the stairs and was about to climb the first step when she felt someone tap her shoulder. She turned around to see one of the officers.

"This isn't a good place to be at the moment miss...miss?"

"Kirkland," she finished for him.

"Right. We're investigating a murder here, not a sight women usually like to see," he warned.

"Yes, I know," she answered. "The victim is Mary Jane Kelly, correct?"

The man nodded. "Is she a friend of yours Miss Kirkland?"

England shook her head. "I work for the government. They want me to found out how the investigation on this murderer is going." It wasn't necessarily true. She was the one who requested for permission to see how bad this situation was getting.

"Is there any way you can prove this?"

England took out the letter of permission the Prime Minister had signed for her. The police officer took a long look at it.

"Well," he said reluctantly, "all right. I'll take you to the murder scene. Be warned, though: it'll be a bloody sight."

England nodded once and they proceeded up the steps. The closer they got to their destination, the stronger the scent of blood became. She resisted the urge to take out her handkerchief.

The other police officers were crowding the entrance of the room, making it impossible to go in. Only when she showed them her signed letter of permission did they let her enter the room.

The sight that greeted her was more gruesome than she had expected. Of all the battles she had witnessed and the men she had seen fall, she never thought that the dead body of a woman could shock her so, but it did.

"A slit throat, abdomen cut open, organs removed," the police officer narrated beside her in a somber voice. When she didn't reply he said to his fellow officers, "We should get her a bag. I think she's going to be sick."

"I am _not_," England snarled, finally finding her voice. Still, the words came out softer than she had intended. After a few more moments of silence she asked, "Is there...is there any evidence left behind by the murderer? Anything that can shed light on who killed her?"

The officer shook his head. "The girl's heart is missing from the crime seen through, if that's something to go on."

England froze. She couldn't take any more of this.

"I think I've seen enough," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I'll report everything I've seen to my superiors. Thank you for your assistance."

She walked herself out of the room and down the steps. When she was out of the building, she breathed a sigh of relief and took a few deep breaths. It was going to be a long time before she could stop thinking about Mary Jane Kelly.

She walked quickly down the street, eager to get to the main road. She was so distracted that she almost didn't notice a man blocking her path.

"Pardon," she murmured, nearly running into him.

"Carful, miss," the man said with a cold smile. England almost shuddered. There was something off about this man.

"It's not very safe for women like you to be out alone in these parts," he continued, still smiling.

England was arrested by fear for a moment before getting herself to nod. "Yes. You're absolutely right, I should be going." She started walking again.

"Good day then," the man said as England walked past him. She stopped and looked over her shoulder to nod before continuing on her way, this time, walking even faster.

Why did she feel as if she had just been talking to a cold-blooded murderer?

***

_AN: I'm sorry I wasn't able to describe the gory parts, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Hope it was an okay read anyway. _

_Also, I know I said there would be two fics today, but, sadly, I won't be able to write the other one today. I procrastinated a lot, and I'm a bit tired out so...it's not coming out today. So sorry about that. _


	18. How to Deal with Loss

_The Hundred Years' War _

The news France had been awaiting for nearly a century had finally reached his ears.

"I cannot believe it," he said in his native tongue. "Are you absolutely sure of what you are saying? What did the commander precisely say?" he asked the messengers who had brought him the news.

"Exactly that, _Monsieur._ The English forces at Castillon have fallen and they are finally retreating back to their little island, where they belong," the messenger added, obviously elated as well. 

He took out some money from his pocket and gave them to the messengers before sending them on their way again.

When he was sure that he was alone, he opened the most private compartment of his cabinets and took out a small, locked box. He took out the small key he wore around his neck, unlocked and opened the chest.

France looked at its contents. The box contained a pure white banner, folded carefully to fit inside its container. The section of the cloth that faced him donned the words, in elegant print, _Jhesus Maria._ France slowly took the folded cloth out and unfolded it in front of him, holding it delicately, as if it were a precious artefact.

"_Jeanne_," he said softly, slowly looking at every inch of the banner that once belonged to his beloved hero. It felt ironic to France that she never got to see the accomplishment of what she had worked so hard to do.

Joan of Arc was another thing that England tried to take from him. The only difference was that, unlike the French territories he had regained, the life of hisJeanne was something he could never take back.

Despite winning this war, France knew he wasn't done avenging for his loss yet.

_***_

_The End of the Seven Years' War _

England had known that winning this war would mean gaining new colonies, but she didn't expect France to give up Canada. Her confusion was exactly why she had asked to speak to him privately after the deal had been made.

"I thought you were fond of him," England said, looking at France curiously. "Why are you giving him up?"

"_Angleterre,_" France replied in a hard voice, with a forced, bitter smile. "Did you honestly think I had a choice? The only reason I am giving up my _Matthieu _is because my government has ordered me to."

"Ah," England said, nodding in comprehension. "I see."

A few more moments passed. England could feel the atmosphere become more and more tense with each second of silence.

"Why did you ask, _Angleterre?" _ France asked suddenly. "Does winning Canada become more triumphant if it hurts me personally?" England noticed a glint of hate in his eyes that she hadn't noticed earlier.

England shook her head. "No, of course not. I was just curious."

"Curious to see if losing so much to you makes a difference to me? If your every victory is continuously weakening me in the way you expect?" With each word, France's voice seemed to become louder.

"No, France. It was just an innocent ques—"

"So why do you keep taking away the people in my heart that matter to me the most?" France asked loudly. Then, seeming to have suddenly realized what he just said, he passed his hand over his face.

England didn't know what to say. "I...I never wanted to hurt you as a person, Francis. I only did what I had to do as a country pitted against yours. I never meant to hurt you personally," she reasoned carefully.

France had seemed to recover from his outburst and was now smiling bitterly again. "You missed out one small detail, _mon cheri_." The last word came out defiantly, in a tone of detestation. "We _are _the countries. Therefore, everything you have done to me I can hold against you."

"Francis, you are being unreason—"

"And one day," France continued, "you are going to know exactly how I feel and you won't be able to blame me for despising you as I do now."

With that, France stood up and walked out of the room. England watched him leave. For some reason, she felt dread in the very pit of her stomach.

***

_The American War for Independence_

"You wanted to see me, _Angleterre?"_ France said, walking into the room. "I was very surprised to receive your message, what with me assisting your current enemy." He looked around and spotted England beside the room's large window. She seemed to be looking outside, her back facing away from him.

"Don't call him that," he heard England's voice say. She sounded as if she had just finished crying.

France was confused. "What?"

"Don't call him my enemy."

"Who?"

"America," England hissed, making the word sound forced.

Before France could reply, England turned around quickly to face him. He noticed that her eyes were almost as red as her military uniform.

"Why are you helping him?" she asked angrily, sounding betrayed.

"Because my government supports his cause," France stated calmly. "I didn't have anything to do with it.

England's voice became softer, her anger becoming replaced by desperation. "Francis, you know how much he means to me, right? You understand how badly it'll ruin me if he wins this."

"Yes."

"So you understand what I want to ask of you?" Her voice now sounded pleading. "Will you withdraw your support and order your troops back to France?"

France took a few steps forward, stopping only when they were a foot apart from each other. England's face looked hopeful. He didn't know whether to pity or enjoy her current weakness, knowing that he would have to deny her request.

He let England bask in anticipation before slowly shaking his head 'no'. Her expression quickly fell and she turned to look back at the window.

"England," France said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I once told you that you would one day understand the loss I've felt for centuries at your hand."

"So this is your form of revenge?"

France paused before replying. "Like you said, I never intended to hurt you personally. Sadly, it comes with the job of being a country that has been your bitter enemy time and again."

"Then I believe we have nothing more to say to each other. Since you are set on aiding my rebellious colony and I cannot convince you otherwise, then you might as well get out," she said with a tone of finality.

France said nothing more as he quickly walked out of the room.

"Now, _Angleterre,_" he said under his breath, remembering how broken England had looked and sounded, "I believe we are finally even." And it was because of this that France found it in his heart to feel sorry for taking away someone England loved just as he did his saint and ex-colony.

***

_AN: This was supposed to turn out as crack but it became angst somehow. I'm going to do a separate chapter on the other aspects of England's relationship with France since this one is about them being enemies. _

_Thanks to everyone once again for reading :) _


	19. Let's NOT Get Married

_Entente Cordial- The British and French leaders agree to stop conflicts between their states and begin a peaceful co-existence. _

Both of them watched as their leaders signed the document that would change the state their relationship forever.

"So, I guess we have to get along now, _oui?"_ France said, noticing England's uneasiness.

England sighed. "I guess. You know, I never thought the day would come that we'd actually agree to get along."

"It just proves that everything can change, _Angleterre."_

"Not that we can't blame this change on anyone else. I, for one, would never have agreed to this if my boss didn't make me."

"Ah, well that's a comfort," France said airily. "I would have had no idea what the world had come to if you agreed to this willingly."

England glared at him. "I hate you."

He chuckled. "And I you, _Angleterre._ But at least we can hate each other together."

England let out a rare laugh as they both stepped forward to sign the agreement.

***

_World War II- Winston Churchill proposes that France and Britain engage in a temporary union._

"You want me to _marry_ France?"

Winston Churchill stopped himself from fiddling awkwardly in his seat at his country's anger. "Only temporarily for the sake of morale. We both know that they'll soon fall to Germany, the least we can do is boost their drive."

"But we don't owe them anything. It's not like we forced them to fight against Germany. I am _not_ going to marry France!" England shrieked, forgetting all formalities.

"Now, England—"

"There is no way I am ever going to 'unite' myself with him. You know how he is, he's going to be a torture. You can't subject me to this."

"England, I—"

"I mean, we're in the middle of a war. I don't have time to support him. He's letting Germany take over his country and he's leaving me to continue this war all by myself. What kind of person does that?"

"Please, England if you could just—"

"There has to be something in the law against this! And the Queen, has she agreed to this union? Do you have any idea how traumatic this is going to be for me, having _him_ as a husband? I can't, I won't, stand for this!"

"England!"

Anne stopped ranting. "Yes?"

"Are you quite finished?" Winston Churchill asked, slightly exasperated.

England paused for a moment. "Yes, I think so."

"Now, if you would just let me clear matters up...none of this is final. France's government hasn't approved it yet and from what I've been hearing, they probably won't," her Prime Minister clarified.

"Oh," said England, relieved. "Why so?"

"Something about their sovereignty."

"Well, that's great, then," England said, looking visibly happier.

"I just thought to tell you in case they _did_ agree. Besides, it's not like were forcing you to get married with Francis. However, your reaction has been noted for future reference, in case a union with France is ever considered again." The Prime Minister stood up to leave, and England followed, looking abashed.

She had to remember to control her violent reactions the next time something like this ever happened again.

***

_Suez Crisis- France's economy is a mess so he is forced to propose a union to Great Britain to save it._

"So, why did you want to talk to me in private, France?" England asked, taking a sip of tea from her porcelain teacup.

"Well, you see, England. I need to ask you something," he answered in a depressed kind of way.

Curiosity aroused, England said, "Go on, ask away."

France's expression didn't change. "Will you....will you marry me?"

England was stunned into speechlessness. It took her about a minute to recover. "Wha...what?"

When France didn't reply, she decided that this was probably all some sick joke. "France...today isn't April Fool's Day. You can stop kidding around now."

Still no reply or change in France's gloomy demeanour. He wasn't even looking her in the eye.

Now England was really starting to panic. "What, don't you have a calendar or something? Because it is most certainly not April Fool's Day...so, really, you can stop now."

"No, I have a calendar," France finally replied, bringing a paper out. England felt a sense of relief until she read what the document said.

"Idiot! This is a marriage registration form!" England yelled. She barely had time to give any other reaction because France had pressed a pen into her palm and was forcing her hand to sign the form.

"This...is...a...calendar," France insisted, trying to move her hand.

"Let go of me, Francis," she said, struggling. "I don't know what has gotten into you today, but it's scaring me."

France only continued bringing her hand closer to the paper, more specifically to the signature bar. England's teacup fell and shattered to pieces on the floor.

"W-wait," England said, sounding terrified. "Why are you making me sign this?"

As she was saying this, France had forced her hand to write half of the word 'England'.

"France, what is this all about?" England asked desperately, continuing to struggle.

"This is all that's left," France loudly replied, not releasing his hold on England. "It's not like I _want_ to do this but...my economy is in a slump with the whole Suez Canal deal. My boss says that...if I don't merge with you I...I might die."

"I don't want to marry you for that," England yelled, finally managing to get away from France as he was talking. "And this is what _I_ think of all this," she said, taking the pen and scribbling out her half-signed name.

"What have you done?" France cried out.

"That serves you right. That's what you get for trying to force me to sign a marriage registration form!"

"What kind of person are you? Don't you care if I die?"

Apparently, England didn't care because she was already walking out of the room.

"Seriously, England," France yelled, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. "I don't care if you call me 'British-held-France' or something. You can even make your queen our head of state. Just do this for me as a favour, please."

"_No, _France. I would never marry you. Honestly, handle your problems by yourself." England was about to walk out again but France managed to pin her arms behind her back. Instinctively, England turned around and kicked France in the stomach. He fell and hit his head hard on the table.

When he didn't move again, she checked his breathing and deduced that he was unconscious. Well, there was no harm done in that.

She took the marriage registration form and tore it neatly into quarters before throwing the pieces in the closest trash bin. Then, with one last look at France, she walked out of the room.

Silently, England hoped that this marriage business wouldn't come up again.

***

_Frangleterre- France's failed proposal during the Suez Canal Crisis became public during 2007, much to the surprise of the world._

"Alright guys," America was saying to the other countries, most of which were not paying attention. "Onto our last bit of business...I think this really interesting article in one of England's news websites is worth discussing."

"You mean BBC?" England asked, not really sure which article America was talking about.

"Yeah, that one," America said. Suddenly, the mentioned article came out on the view screen. The headline read "When Britain and France Nearly Married". The rest of the countries promptly decided that this was worth their attention.

"W-what?" England shrieked, clearly unaware that there was such an article.

"Apparently," America said, smiling wide, "you two almost got _married_ in 1956. Why did we never know about this?" America asked, pretending to look hurt.

"I-I..." England stuttered.

France pretended to look amused. "Heheh, that was all a big mistake, really. I just didn't know that my Prime Minister was an anglophile. Nothing actually happened."

"Or is that what you want us to think?" Hungary asked, slowly taking out a digital camera.

"This," England said to America, suddenly standing up and pointing to the view screen, "isn't any of your business. Besides, like France said, nothing actually happened. I turned France down and that was the end of it."

"She turned you down?" America asked France. "Ouch."

"Well if you read the article properly you would've figured that out. How many times do I have to tell people that I will never get married to France?" England yelled.

"How many times do I have to tell people that I will never _willingly_ get married to England?" France shot back.

"Is it just me," Hungary whispered to America, "or are they actually agreeing on something?"

***

AN: _These two have such history. _

_Big thanks to the Wikipedia page on the Franco-British Union and episode 12 of Hetalia (which was my major basis of the third scene). _

_Also, the article they're talking about can be found here: http://__ news. bbc .co .uk__/ 2/ hi/ uk_news/ _(just remove the spaces)

_Thanks for reading, everyone. :) _


	20. We're Shipwrecked Too

When Anne woke up on a sandy beach, she thought she was dreaming. When she found America sitting beside her saying, "We're shipwrecked," she thought he was joking. After a while though, reality started to sink in.

"What do you mean we're shipwrecked?" she shrieked, when her sleepiness finally wore off.

"Well, we're in this deserted island, our boat is damaged beyond repair, and we have no supplies, so to speak. I don't know what you call it in your place but in America it's called getting shipwrecked," he replied, looking completely unconcerned.

England scowled. "You git! Of course I know what getting shipwrecked means! Of all people, though, why did I have to get stuck on an island with _you?_"

"Oh, it's not like it's going to get any worse," America said, still looking carefree.

She raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"Because being stuck here with you is already the worst thing that could ever happen!" Alfred teased, laughing.

Anne grabbed the closest thing in reach (which happened to be a stick) and hit him on the head with it as hard as she could. Owing to America's very hard-headed nature, though, it didn't really do much damage. Not like that stopped him from complaining about it.

***

England tried _very_ hard to ignore America's blabbering as she put the finishing touches on the raft she was making. She knew better than to depend on Alfred's help so she decided to find a way to get them both out of the island on her own. A raft seemed like the best way to go.

"What if that stick hurt my brain really bad, huh? You should really think before you hit people in the head. See, my head still hurts because of you, England. You won't even apologize!" America whined continuously. She ignored everything he had just said and finished the raft.

"Alfred, will you stop complaining about your head for a minute?"

"Why should I?" he asked, sounding exactly like a little kid.

"Because I want to show you what I've been working on," she replied.

Interest piqued, America asked, "What is it?"

Anne stepped aside to show him. "What do you think? I made it by myself (since you were no help, whatsoever). It's a—"

"Wow, England!" America interrupted, looking completely amazed. "I've always wanted a bed like this."

"Wait, that isn't a—"

"I'm going to sleep here tonight!" America called out, dropping himself heavily on the "bed". The raft, unable to handle such force, broke almost immediately.

England felt her temper run out. "You _idiot!_"

***

After a lot more arguing, America and England decided to scavenge around for any remaining supplies from their ship.

"Hey Anne!" America called out.

"What?"

"I found a lamp and some matches over here!"

England hurried over to where he was. "Are the matches wet?"

America shook his head. "They were in this small plastic case."

"Well, that's not a bad find," she commented, looking impressed. "For you, that is," she quickly added.

America looked smug. "Yeah, well, I'm awesome like that."

"Whatever," she replied. "At least we won't have trouble finding our way later, since it's getting dark. I'm going to go explore the forest and see if there's anything there we can use."

"Sure thing, England," America replied. "Try not to get in trouble though, so I won't have to save you or anything."

England didn't reply as she was already too busy walking into the forest nearby.

Alfred had nothing else to do but to wait for Anne to return. It seemed to be taking her a very long time, not like he was worried or anything. Alright, so maybe he was worried but that was only because he was afraid of having to survive on the island by himself, or so he told himself.

Finally, after a very long hour, England came out of the forest. She seemed to look happy for some reason.

"Well that excursion was better than I expected," she was saying, walking to where he was.

"Did you find anything we could use?" he asked.

"No, but I met these cute little guys," England replied, petting what appeared to be thin air.

Now America was really worried. "Uhhhm, Anne? There's nothing there."

"Huh?" she asked, looking surprised.

"And where's your lamp?" he asked. "Don't tell me you managed to lose the only supplies we have!"

England passed a hand over her face in self-irritation. "Oh shut up, will you?"

***

They were forced to sleep on the ground that night, with no dinner to boot.

"Anne, I'm hungry," America complained.

She sighed. "Well don't ask me for food, it's not like I have any."

"But I'm huuuuungry."

"Look," England said, having no energy for another argument. "Let's just go to sleep and think about food in the morning. I'm sure things will look better then."

"Fine," America said with a pout. "I hate being stuck in this island!"

"Yes, and the fact that you don't find me good company has been made clear as well."

"Oh, come on. I was just kidding about that 'being stuck with you is the worst' comment," he said. "It's not like I meant it or anything," Alfred added grudgingly.

"I'm sorry I hit your head, then," she replied, obviously tired of fighting with him. "I was wrong to take my anger out on you."

America sat up in mock surprise. "Did you, the always-right England, just _apologize_ to me?"

England groaned frustration. "Yes, I did, alright? Can we just go to sleep now?"

"Fine," he conceded.

After a while, though, both of them were still tossing and turning on the ground.

"It's cold out here during the night," he heard England murmur beside him.

"Yeah, I guess I have to agree with you."

She didn't reply, but he could hear her muttering about the cold and feel her shivering beside him. Well he wanted to help, but what could he do? Unless she wanted him to _hug_ her or something like that...but that would be too embarrassing.

"I'm not going to do anything!" he called out stupidly, having nothing else to say in response to her complaints about the cold.

"I didn't _ask_ you to do anything," England said, sounding frustrated again. She turned so that she was facing away from him. America, meanwhile, looked up at the sky in boredom.

After a half-hour or so, he was still awake. Anne's deep breaths told him that she was asleep. Thinking that it was about time for him to get some sleep as well, he turned on his side and closed his eyes.

He was about to drift into the land of sleep when he heard England's teeth chattering from the cold. Well, if she was asleep now then she wouldn't notice it if he tried to help, right?

Tentatively, Alfred wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him in a hug. England, probably half-asleep, turned to face him and settled her head on the crook of his neck.

Feeling considerably warmer, America soon fell asleep as well.

***

_AN: A continuation/revised version of the 'We're Shipwrecked Too' strip (which doesn't belong to me, obviously). _

_Sorry for being a bit late with this. Hope you guys liked it :)_


	21. Ending the Alliance

_Historical Facts: _

_ This fic takes place after WWI in the 1920's. Canada was still a part of the British Empire then. The rest of the historical facts in this story that have to do with the political reasons for the dissolution of the Anglo-Japanese alliance are based on fact...except for the interventions of the Hetalia nations, of course. _

_***_

_Another 'normal' day at Washington, D.C., USA _

He and his President were enjoying a nice, quiet breakfast when he decided to bring up what he had wanted to discuss.

"I hear they're set on renewing the Anglo-Japanese Alliance," he said casually, avoiding his president's curious gaze.

The President nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Why? Any concerns, Alfred?"

"No, nothing really," he replied slowly, looking at his now-empty plate.

"It doesn't sound like nothing, Al. You rarely ever bring up anything political so this must be something big. Come now, tell me what's bothering you about the alliance?" the President prompted, looking worried.

"Well, I...it's just, well, you once told me that alliances are pretty important. They can make wars and change the balance of power and things like that..." America explained awkwardly.

"Yes," he agreed. "Now, go on."

"So when Japan and Britain made an alliance, our reports told us it was about defeating their common enemies. But now Russia's been neutralized and the world war is over so what are they trying to accomplish now?"

The President was looking at him carefully but Alfred still refused to look at his superior's face. He thought that the expression on his face could give away what he truly intended when he brought the subject up. The truth was, America didn't really care about the politics involved. His true concern was the one country, the one person that he didn't want to see allied with Japan, especially since relations between him and the Asian country started deteriorating.

"You question their motives?"

"Well, I think Eng- I mean, Britain is just doing all of this for formality's sake. It's Japan I'm worried about."

"Why so?"

"Boss, we all know how he's completely obsessed with 'imperial progress' or something like that. What if he uses his alliance with Britain to get what he wants? He could start a war and Britain would be forced to help him and if he wins, wouldn't that upset the balance of power or something?"

"Hmm, you've been doing your research," the President observed.

Alfred looked up at him, hoping the seriousness on his face would convince his superior that this was a big deal for him.

His boss sighed. "This really means something to you, Alfred?"

America nodded.

"Fine, I'll see what I can do about it."

***

_The Imperial Conference in London, England_

England suddenly gained interest in what Canada's Prime Minister had been addressing the conference about.

"Matthew," she said, calling the attention of the country sitting beside her. "What is your boss talking about?"

Canada obviously disliked the fact that none of the other countries were paying attention to his superior. "The Anglo-Japanese Alliance."

"Yes, what did he say about it?" she asked hurriedly, thinking she had just misheard something.

"He says that you should reconsider your decision to renew the alliance," Matthew replied simply.

England did a double take. "What? Why?" she asked loudly, ignoring the stares that came her way.

Matthew sighed. "England, if you just listened then maybe—"

She cut across him in impatience. "Alright, I'll listen." England transferred her attentions to Canada's superior.

"...but keeping this alliance could just encourage other countries to make alliances of their own. Not only would that increase the probability of diplomatic conflicts but it could also increase the possibility of another war. An alliance like the one Britain has with Japan could isolate the other countries we share foreign relationships with such as the USA and China..."

England turned to Canada again. "What does America have to do with this?"

"H-huh?" Matthew stuttered, looking guilty.

Anne looked livid. "You heard me. My superiors had no qualms about this alliance before now and I don't think it's a coincidence that his name suddenly pops up when renewing it suddenly becomes a big question. That git, America, your brother...he's done something to bring this up, hasn't he?"

"W-well," Canada replied nervously. "His ambassador might have mentioned something to my prime minister in passing and—"

"You mean he's trying to_ interfere_ with my business...and you're helping him," England concluded, still looking furious.

Before Matthew could reply, Anne turned her attention back to Canada's Prime Minister to hear the rest of what he had to say.

"...propose that we make a new multilateral treaty which would include the US, China, Japan, and other countries with Pacific Ocean interests. Not only will this improve Britain's relationship with these nations, but it will show them that our empire is not exclusively committed to Japan..."

England didn't bother to listen as Canada's boss continued to explain the finer points of his plan. She turned to Matthew once again, who was no doubt hoping that she had calmed down.  
"Matthew, your brother has absolutely no business to object to any alliance, treaty or agreement that I make with any other country. If he thinks he's going to get his way with this then he is sadly mis—"

"I agree to this proposal," a voice from the audience called out. England looked around, wondering who had interrupted her one-sided threatening session. It was the Lord Chancellor of her empire, and he had just proclaimed his support to the Canadian's suggestion.

"So do I," another voice said. This time, it was the leader of South Africa. One by one, the attendees of the conference started voicing their agreement. Anne was stunned. With majority of the empire's representatives consenting to the Canadian proposal, it was clear now that the Anglo-Japanese Alliance wasn't going to be renewed.

"Canada," Anne murmured, her fists clenched at her sides.

"Yes, England?" Canada asked anxiously.

"When you next see your brother, give him my congratulations."

Canada swallowed hard. "What for?"

England's voice was hard with anger. "Because, like a spoilt little _child,_ he once again gets to have exactly what he wants."

***

_Washington Conference in Washington, D.C., USA _

Japan had expected it when England asked for a private word with him. They strolled out in the snowy gardens of America's capital, ignoring the cold and the darkness of the evening.

"So, I'm pretty sure you already know what I wanted to talk to you about," England said, her hands stuffed in her jacket pockets.

Japan nodded. "The alliance is to be terminated and replaced," he said simply. His superior had already told him about this.

England didn't respond and for a while they walked in silence.

"I suppose you know why we aren't renewing the alliance," she said finally, looking as if she disapproved of her government's decision.

He nodded again.

"Do you understand our reasons?" she asked, looking anxious. Anne didn't want him to think that this was done without a reason or that ending the alliance was an easy decision to make. Neither did she want him to think that it was any personal choice of hers.

"Well enough," he said. Japan noticed the distress on her face. "Igirisu-san," he said gently, "I know it's not your fault."

They were both silent again.

"Kiku, I'm sorry," Anne said suddenly, stopping and facing him. "I swear, if I had a choice I wouldn't have let this happen."

Japan stopped walking as well. "I'm not offended or anything, really," he replied, with a soft smile. "Though I'm not happy our alliance is coming to an end either. I've learned a lot from you, Igirisu-san."

England smiled as well. "I've learned a lot from you as well, Japan. I have so much to thank you for. Not just the trade or the military assistance, but also for the friendship you've given me. I don't think anyone has ever understood me as well as you have."

Japan felt himself flush. England was hardly ever this open to anyone about what she felt and knowing that he was someone she considered a close, sincere friend was gratifying. "I-I'm glad to know that I was as much a friend to you as you have been to me," he said awkwardly, but still meaning every word of it.

"I'm being serious, Kiku," she said, thinking that he found her insincere. "I mean...before I made that alliance with you, my country was in something they literally called a splendid isolation. As a person, I thought myself alone as well. Meeting someone like you, who was just as withdrawn, just as formal, and just as solitary as me, made me realize otherwise. Honestly, my alliance with you has been one of the best things to happen to me in a long time and I can thank you for that," Anne finished, starting to look embarrassed as well.

Japan then understood that this sharing of feelings was England's way of saying goodbye to the closeness that they would probably never share again. He wondered whether he should do the same thing as well...but would that mean having to confess every little sentiment? Japan wasn't exactly the type of person to do that.

"I-I'm very glad to have been in this alliance with you as well, _Igirisu-san_," he said, stammering in awkwardness. "I cannot really express how grateful I am and..." he trailed off, not wanting to be sentimental.

England seemed to understand this perfectly. They continued walking back to the building in comfortable silence. When they reached the front of the building, England stopped again.

"Japan?"

"_Hai?"_

"For old time's sake," Anne said, with a sad smile. She bowed low, just as Japan had taught her and said, "_Arigatou, Nippon-san." _

Japan smiled before he bowed as well. "_Arigatou, Igirisu-san." _ He remembered, with amusement, the time Anne didn't even know the difference of between greeting someone and saying 'thank you' in Japanese.

England laughed. "Well, we are thanking each other quite a lot. I think it's time we go in. _Some_ countries might be wondering where we've gone," she said, obviously referring to America.

Japan nodded. Once more, in content quiet, the two walked side by side back into the building.

Truly, England was a friend he would never be able to replace. Japan sincerely hoped that they would never, in the future, have to face each other on opposite sides of the battle field.

***

America watched the two re-enter the building, from afar. He was finding it harder and harder to convince himself that what he felt was anything other than jealousy.

***

_AN: Sorry this is a bit late, my Internet connection failed for the last couple of days. _

_Hope you guys liked this chapter :) _


	22. Drunken Activities

England was about to go to sleep when a persistent knocking on her door brought her back downstairs.

"America!" she yelled out, making her way to the front door. "If you break down the door, I swear, you aren't leaving my house alive!"

She reached the door knob and, out of annoyance, roughly threw the door open. To her surprise, it wasn't America who was waiting for her.

"Prussia?"

The white-haired, ex-nation gave her a small wave before letting himself in. "'Sup, England?" he said in greeting.

"You tell me," England replied, recovering from the shock.

"Oh, well, I just thought you needed a dose of my awesome," he said with a big grin, making his way to the kitchen.

"Wha—wait a minute!" She followed after him in confusion. "Is France anywhere in the near vicinity?"

"France? What does he have to do with 'The Awesome' visiting you?" Prussia asked, putting a bottle of something down on the kitchen counter.

"You and France usually cause chaos together, if you haven't noticed," she answered pointedly.

Prussia looked offended. "I don't need France to affirm my greatness!"

"Okay, okay," England reassured. "I was just making sure. So if you aren't here with France on a mission to make my life miserable, then what are you here for?"

His usual grin had returned. "Can't I just pay a visit to my good friend, England?"

She raised an eyebrow. "At this time of night? I don't think so." She snatched the bottle on the kitchen counter before Prussia could stop her. England took the bottle out of its cloth bag and looked at the label.

"It's Irish whiskey!" Prussia said with a smug look before she could yell at him.

"Irish whiskey?" England growled. "So you came all the way over here just so I could be your drinking buddy?"

Prussia shrugged. "Well, yeah. I mean, we used to drink together all the time so there's nothing wrong with that, right?"

England looked sceptical. "Germany and France too busy to drink with you?"

"Yeah," Prussia answered. "West said he had a 'prior engagement' and France is off with some dame, or something."

She sighed. "Well, I'm sorry, Prussia but I can't relive those old drinking sessions with you. I have to go to bed."

Prussia pouted. "Shows what kind of friend you are. You couldn't even tell the difference between me and that burger-eating American."

"Sorry to say, I sometimes forget he's not the only annoying person in the world, just the most annoying," England said, looking irritated just at the mention of America.

He laughed. "Nice thing to say about your ex-brother."

England groaned. She sat down on one of the stools at the counter, in spite of herself, and started rubbing her head as if she had a migraine. "Don't remind me. I sometimes wonder where I went wrong with him, the ungrateful git."

Prussia got out two shot glasses from the cloth bag and took the seat beside her. "Tell me about it. I feel the exact same way about West sometimes." He started pouring the whiskey into the glasses.

England looked up and noticed what Prussia was doing. "Oh no, Prussia. I told you, I am not going to drink with you."

"Come one, England. Just one shot," he said pleadingly.

She gave in. "Fine, but just _one_." She got her glass and waited for Prussia to finish pouring whiskey into his.

"To...ungrateful brothers!" he said, raising his glass.

She gave a bitter chuckle. "I'll drink to that." She raised hers up as well and they both said 'cheers' before downing the alcohol in one gulp.

Somehow, England found herself agreeing to another shot.

***

_Three shots later. _

"...so the git put this burger on my head and thought it would cure the cold!" England said, telling Prussia (in an unnecessarily loud voice) about a certain instance of America's stupidity.

"No way!" Prussia said, laughing in an exaggerated way. "Once, I had a headache and West gave me this bottle of aspirin for it. He didn't tell me how much I should take so I ended up asking Italy."

"What did Italy tell you?"

"That's the funny part. He told me to finish the whole bottle, since that was what Germany gave me. Then, I started yelling at him since he wanted to give me an overdose or something. West came home and Italy came crying to him...so guess who got yelled at."

"You?"

"Exactly," Prussia said pouring another shot of whiskey.

"Brothers. You can't beat them, you can't join them," she said bitterly, passing her glass to him for another refill.

He nodded in agreement. "Don't you wish sometimes that you can just get back at them?"

"Only all the time," England said. Then, suddenly getting an idea, she got out her phone.

He looked at her suspiciously. "What are you planning?"

"Just watch," she said. "This is how we get our kicks."

Prussia looked to see who she was calling. "America?" he asked.

England nodded. "He should be playing video games at his house right now."

"Well, I'm surprised you don't have him on speed dial."

"Oh, shut up." She put the phone on loud speaker.

"_Hello_," a voice on the other line said. _"England?"_

"Hello, America," England greeted with plastic cheerfulness. Prussia had to stop himself from snickering.

"_Hey, what's up?_"

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm in your country at the moment," England lied, still sounding airy.

"_Really? Are you planning to drop by?" _

"Maybe, not right now, though. I'm in Washington, D.C."

_"What are you doing there? Boring business?"_

England smiled slyly. "No, actually, I'm setting fire to your capital."

Prussia almost laughed out loud.

"_What?! Are you serious?"_

"When have I ever been unserious? Besides, why else do you think I sound so happy right now?"

_"B-but...why?" _

"Just because I felt like it," she replied. "Now, I have to go. I don't want to get caught, now do I?"

"_Wait, Eng—" _Before America could finish his sentence, England disconnected their conversation.

Prussia burst out laughing. "I can't_ believe _you!" he said appreciatively.

She started laughing as well. "Don't blame me if he was a big enough idiot to believe me. He's probably running to his capital right now."

"I want to do something like that to Ludwig," Prussia said, suddenly. "Can I borrow your phone?"

"Fine," she said, handing it over.

He quickly dialled Germany's mobile number and waited for him to answer.

_"Hello?" _his brother's voice said on the other line.

"Hey, West!" he greeted.

_"_Bruder,_ what is it?"_

"Just thought I should warn you that France is on his way to visit you, and I think he's drunk," he said, saying the first thing that came up in his mind.

_"Thanks, Prussia, but I'm at Italy's house right now." _

"What? At this time of night?"

_"Yes. His boss and mine are meeting tomorrow so he's invited me to stay in the spare room of his place." _

"B-but, France is going there too!" Prussia said desperately.

There was a sigh from Germany. "_Goodbye, bruder." _

The phone call ended. Prussia looked at it in disbelief.

England snatched the phone back from him. "You called that a prank call? Tsk, tsk, how _shameful_."

"Well I like to see you do better," he challenged.

"Fine, I will. What's Italy's landline?"

"Why are you calling Italy?" he asked.

"Because he probably won't answer calls from this number after what you did," England said. "Oh never mind, I found it in my directory." She selected the number and made the call.

"_Buongiorno,"_ a carefree voice answered.

'Italy,' Prussia mouthed to England. She nodded and decided to have a change of plans.

"Italy, hi! This is...uhhhm, Hungary," she said, trying to sound like Elizabeta.

"_Hello Hungary!" _Italy greeted. "_You sound different." _

"Yes, well, I have a sore throat."

"_Oh, I hope you get better. So...why did you call?" _

"I just thought I should tell you that...I heard Germany telling Austria that...

"_That?"_

"That, well, he hated you," England said in a soft voice, as if she was truly scandalized.

"_What?" _Italy asked. Prussia and England heard a 'thump' as if Italy had dropped the phone. "_Germany, Germany!" _Italy's voice said in the background. "_Hungary says you hate me!" _

"Wait! Don't ask him!" she yelled angrily into the phone before ending the conversation. She put her phone back in her pocket violently, in frustration.

Prussia was laughing. "Ha! And you said I didn't know how to make a prank call!"

"Whatever," she replied grumpily, draining her shot glass. "Pour me another one, will you?"

***

_Another three shots later._

"France isn't all bad, you know," Prussia reasoned, trying to calm England down after she had another 'I hate France' rant.

"Then explain why I feel like puking every time I hear his name?" she asked disbelievingly.

Prussia shrugged. "Must be some kind of allergic reaction...or form of phobia. Did he traumatize you in some point of your life?"

"Some point of my life? What about my _entire childhood_?"

"Don't worry," he said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "My awesomeness will help you get over it."

England shrugged his hand off. "I don't think so. You're so-called 'awesomeness' causes an equally distressing allergic reaction, especially when it's paired off with America's hero-complex."

"Wow," Prussia said. "You sure talk about him a lot."

She flushed. "I do _not_."

He laughed. "Yes, you do. You steer every conversation his way, if you haven't noticed."

"I do _not_," she said again, flushing even more.

"Yes, you do," Prussia continued to tease. "Yes, you do. Yes, you do."

"Shut _up!"_

"You're in _love_ with him, aren't you? England and Alfred sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S—"

"Oh just stop! I can't believe I ever agreed to drink with someone as immature as you."

"As if starting a prank call marathon was any more mature," he retorted.

"At least I didn't completely fail at it!"

Prussia tried to counter her but he couldn't think of anything to say.

"Ha!" England said triumphantly. "You couldn't reply. I win this war!"

Prussia shook his head in defeat. "You make a pretty awesome opponent, England. Maybe next time, we can combined our awesome and beat up someone else instead of each other."

"Are you proposing that we declare war against....say, France?"

Prussia shrugged. "Maybe."

England gave it a moment's thought before replying. "I'll think about it. Get yourself an empire and we'll talk."

He frowned. "Kill joy," he muttered, pouring himself another glass.

***

_Two more shots later. _

_ "Don't want to be an American idiot! One nation controlled by the media!" _ England sang out, playing her guitar at the same time. She and Prussia had gotten out her guitar and drum set and had started singing and playing songs they both knew. This just happened to be one of them.

"_Information age of hysteria. It's going out to idiot America!"_

They played one last round of the chorus before collapsing on England's couch.

"Well," England said, trying to catch her breath. "That was..."

"Awesome," Prussia finished for her.

"Can't you think of any other another adjective?" she asked.

He took the question seriously. "It's sort of my signature line already, so I don't bother to say anything else."

"Right," she said in reply, putting her guitar down. "I have to say, I was really surprised to know that you played the drums."

"I have to do something with my life, don't I? Now that I'm not a nation or anything," he said glumly.

England looked concerned. "Now don't get all sad like that." Then in a desperate attempt to change the topic, "Why do you have 'American Idiot' memorized, anyway?"

"It was 28 on West's top singles chart," he said, looking a bit amused.

"Well, it was number three on mine," England replied. "I was actually surprised it didn't reach number one, like it did in Canada."

"That's 'cause you're an America fan girl, deep inside," he replied, grinning again.

"Can you stop implying that I have feelings for America?"

"But it's so much fun!"

"Prussia..." she said threateningly, getting her guitar.

"Fine, fine," he hastily replied, not wanting to get hit on the head with the instrument. "Well, we better go and finish off the whiskey." He stood up and offered his hand to help England up.

She took it and stood as well. "And to think, you said we were only going to have one shot."

"Don't blame me, you wanted more!"

"Oh whatever," England said, entering the kitchen and sitting on her stool again. "Let's just finish this whiskey already. I'm starting to get dizzy."

"Okay," he said, taking a seat. "There's only enough for half a shot for both of us." He poured the last of the whiskey in both of their glasses, nearly spilling some.

England took her glass. "What do we drink this to?"

"Hm, you decide."

She raised her glass. "So this is to...finishing this bottle of whiskey."

"Lame toast," he complained.

"Fine, this is to us being awesome. Is that good enough?"

"Yup. To us being awesome," he repeated more dramatically.

"Cheers."

***

_AN: First of all, let me apologize for this completely random fic. Also, I apologize for not making my characters act 'drunk' properly. I don't really have experience in this area so..._

_Despite that, hope you all liked it :D _

_PS. American Idiot by Green Day does not belong to me. _

_PPS. Prank call marathons, drinking alcohol, taking too much aspirin, and joking about burning down America's capital is NOT recommended. _


	23. Giving Sealand the Talk

It was France who bothered to notice the depressed Sealand sitting outside the meeting room.

"Why so glum, _mon cheri?_" he said, crouching down beside him.

The boy looked surprised for a second before sinking back into his former melancholy. "England and my parents keep treating me like a little kid even though I'm obviously not. They won't acknowledge me as a country either, or let me attend the meeting. All because I'm not 'old enough to deal with the responsibilities,'" he murmured, mimicking England's voice with an exaggerated accent as he quoted her. "As if I'm not as capable of being a nation as she is," he added bitterly.

"Ah, so you have problems getting their respect?" France asked.

Sealand nodded.

He chuckled. "Well, _mon cheri_, I see what the problem is. Sealand, the only thing stopping you from proving yourself is your innocence and your being naive."

"Hey, I'm not innocent or whatever that other thing you called me is!" Sealand protested. "I know lots of things about robots and the ocean and...annoying my older sister!"

"Oh?" France asked sceptically. "What's the worst thing your coun—I mean, principality has gone through?"

"Well...I helped a bit in World War II....and my boss got kidnapped once. That counts for something, right?"

He shook his head. "Hardly."

Sealand groaned in frustration. "Fine, what about that other thing. Why am I...na—whatever it is?"

"Naive? Well, there are many ways to tell. One way to know is if you can tell me what adults do at night that kids are never supposed to see," France said, hardly able to cloud the mischief in his voice.

Sealand shrugged. "I don't know. Kissing and mushy stuff, I guess."

He raised an eyebrow. "You mean to tell me that your parents (or England) have never given you 'the talk' before?"

The boy looked confused. "What's 'the talk'?"

France sighed. "You have a long way to go _mon_ _ami._ Well, if you want to take a step towards true acknowledgement, you should take it upon yourself to poke around the world of adults." He tried, with great effort to hide his growing excited. This was, after all, an opportunity to embarrass England.

"How do I do that?"

"You could always ask someone (like England, for example) a few questions, preferably in front of other people so they'll be forced to answer. I'll give you something to start with. Ask them where babies come from."

"Babies?" Sealand asked, disbelievingly.

"_Oui_," he said knowingly. "It'll give you a wonderful head start. Also, another bit of advice: it would be better if you asked someone who won't be able to punish you for wanting to find things out. Like, let's say, England. Not only will you be off the hook, you will also cause her great embarrassment."

Sealand suddenly looked very interested. "So you say this will get them to start acknowledging me _and_ it will annoy England."

France nodded.

"It sounds like the perfect plan," Sealand said, sounding eager.

He thanked France before quickly running off.

***

: It was the end of the meeting, yet at least half of the countries were still in the room. Among them were England, America, and France who were having a very stimulated discussion (more like argument) about the existence of supernatural creatures.

That was when it happened.

"All right, nobody move!" a voice called out loudly from a doorway. Everyone turned to look at the small figure, brandishing what seemed like a big plastic gun.

England recognized the boy immediately. "Sealand? What immature stunt are you trying to pull now?"

"What is _that_?" America suddenly shouted, looking nervously at Sealand's weapon.

"America, it's a toy gun," England replied, looking even more irritated.

Sealand walked over (in a very dramatic way) to where they were standing. Everyone watched to see what he would do next.

"Sealand wha—"

"Listen up, England," the boy interrupted in cowboy-ish drawl. "All these years you've been treating me like a baby, like some sort of joke...and now you're going to pay."

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "And will you stop talking like someone from a Wild West movie?"

Sealand just brought the gun up, level to England's chest.

"Woah, Sealand, man. Let's not get hasty," America said in a panicky voice, not exactly sure what to do.

Sealand looked at him in an annoyed way. "I'm not going to hurt her for real, America. I mean, if I did then who would acknowledge my being a nation?"

"Not going to happen," England muttered. She shot France a look when she heard him snickering.

"It will one day, England," Sealand said, this time in a super villain voice. "But that isn't why I'm pointing this _water_ gun at you right now. I just need to ask you a simple question."

"Well, whatever it is, don't think you can threaten me into answering it. It's not like a little water is going to hurt me," she answered smugly.

"Oho," the boy said, mimicking some sort of foreboding laugh. "But it's not really water in this water gun, England."

England sighed. She had better things to do that to humor Sealand. She would stop this whole show right now if she could but the other countries were being of no help. They continuously showed their interest in Sealand's playacting by gasping, murmuring and reacting at all the right times. It obviously encouraged the boy to continue doing whatever he was trying to do.

"So what is in the gun?" England asked, looking exasperated.

"Melted chocolate," Sealand replied maliciously.

Now England was really worried. "Chocolate?"

"Yes, chocolate."

"Sealand, I'm warning you. I just got this blouse yesterday and if you stain it in any way I will—"

Sealand switched back to the cowboy drawl. "I don't think you're in the position to make threats, little lady."

France laughed outright and England kicked him in the shin.

"Sealand, don't you dare talk to me like that. If you've suddenly forgotten, I'm your older sister and you can't—"

"Now, jerk-England. We don't need to make a scene here. All you have to do is answer my question and you'll be chocolate free," he said reassuringly.

"All right. What's your stupid question? This better not be about getting your nation acknowledged."

"Okay, here's my question." Sealand gave a dramatic pause. "Where do babies come from?"

Suddenly, the rest of the countries were snickering. England turned red in embarrassment. "Babies?" she asked. "Like...human babies?"

Sealand nodded determinately.

"I...I...are you sure you wouldn't rather have your parents talk to you about that?" she asked, trying to wheedle herself out of the situation.

"They already left. Plus, I could get in trouble if I asked them," Sealand replied. "Now get to the answering, lady."

"Didn't I just tell you to stop talking to me in that tone?"

"I'm going to pull the trigger," Sealand threatened, putting his finger at the ready.

"You better answer the question, _Angleterre,_" France said, laughing. "The boy is getting impatient."

"Fine!" England said suddenly. "I'll answer the question. Okay, uhhhm, well, it's like...the bees and the flowers," she said awkwardly. More laughter could be heard from the other nations, including America. England was too embarrassed to glare at them.

"Bees and flowers?" Sealand asked suspiciously, still not lowering his weapon.

"Yes," England replied, swallowing hard. "You see, when bees get nectar from flowers they...oh, well, they don't exactly use their stingers to get to the nectar so I guess that analogy is flawed. Er, let me think of a better comparison. Give me a minute."

"You have ten seconds," Sealand said mischievously.

"You little git," England snapped, forgetting about Sealand's gun.

"Ten," he said. "Nine. Eight..."

"Okay, wait, wait!"

"Seven. Six. Five. Four..."

"I can't bloody think of anything!"

"Three. Two..."

"Okay! Okay, I've gotten it. So, uhhhm, let's say," she took a deep breath. "There's this messenger and he...knocks on the girl's door and gives her a message," England said, turning red once again. She noticed Switzerland covering his sister's ears at the far side of the room.

"A message? What for?" Sealand asked.

"Er, it's something that...helps the woman make a baby," England said quickly.

The boy looked at her questioningly for a moment. "You're not telling me the truth," he said accusingly.

"Yes, I am. Aren't I, America?" she said desperately.

America looked upset for some reason. "You're so unfair, England. When I was a kid, you told me that babies were delivered to mothers by giant storks!"

"You aren't helping," England growled.

"France, is she telling me the truth?" Sealand asked, turning to his accomplice.

France sighed. He knew what the limits to his fun were. "Mostly," he answered. "Some of the things she said will make sense to you soon enough but I guess those are the things you'll find out on your own."

England gave a sigh of relief. "Thank you, France. At least we now know you have the capacity of being mature."

France changed his mind. "On the other hand, Sealand. You could always shoot her with chocolate just for the fun of it."

And Sealand did just that.

Needless to say, England wasn't too happy with either of them.

***

_AN: I had this conversation with my younger sister yesterday. Well, she didn't threaten me with a water gun but the dialogue pretty much went this way. _

_This was so much fun to write! I even made a random continuation below for anyone who wants to read. Hope you guys enjoy it. :) _

_***_

A random side note:

"America, if you want chocolate so badly, why don't you just ask Sealand to spray you instead of poking my cheek and eating it from your fingers?"

"Because it's much more fun this way! You know, I have to thank Sealand one day. He's combined the two things I love most in life."

"Uhuh. Now...can you help me clean up?"

"But it's so yummy!"

"America..."

"Oh, fine, already."

_Later..._

"Sealand, can I borrow your chocolate-filled gun?"

"What for?"

"I'm going to spray someone."

"England?"

"Yup."

"Sure thing, then."


	24. Of Random Episodes and Manga Strips I

_AN: This is a two-part thing about England's appearances in random episodes or strips in the manga. This part concentrates on the WWII strips...or most of them at least. I've been suffering from some writer's block so I based these from the existing things (which do not belong to me)_

* * *

The Axis Powers were having their training exercises, like they usually did.

"Numbers!" Germany yelled.

Japan and Italy obediently called out their numbers in turn.

"Well then, let's begin our training. Today we will be talking about England and how to defeat her in battle," Germany instructed.

"Er, Germany-san," Japan said awkwardly. "It is not in my culture to fight women."

"It's not in my culture to fight England," Italy chimed in eagerly.

"Japan, to us, England is always the enemy first before she is anything else. Italy, I will make you fight against England even if it means having to force you. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir!" the two simultaneously responded. Italy looked a bit scared.

"Now, for starters, what do you do if you find England but you have no weapons?" Germany asked. "Italy?"

"Uhhhm." The Italian thought about it for a moment. "I got it! We get a stick and tie a white handkerchief to it. Then, we wave it around while running away, screaming for mercy."

"Incorrect. That just means that you're weak and that you want to surrender. Japan, what's the real answer?"

Japan answered. "You mimic the wailing of William I!"

Italy looked amazed. "Wow, how does that go?"

"I'm not sure exactly," Japan admitted.

Germany passed his hand over his face in irritation. "No, copying the wailing of William the First will not be enough. We must use what England fears the most...the sound of France's voice when he's trying to be seductive!"

"Eh?" the other two asked simultaneously.

"Yes," Germany replied. "It is, unfortunately, the only way. Now, we will spend the next hour trying to imitate the pitch of France's voice!"

***

_One hour later_

England kept low as she crawled behind the bushes. She had received word that the Axis had a training session ongoing at this location and she wanted to get all the information she could use for a tactical advantage.

It didn't really matter that her hair and clothes were full of leaves, she just needed to find them before their training session ended.

***

_Another hour later_

"Training sessions are really useful, aren't they?" Japan said to Italy as they finished their push-ups. During the last hour (after the traumatizing experience of imitating France's voice), they had been working on gaining the physical strength they needed to fight on the battlefield.

"Yeah. I think I kind of understand what to do when I see England, now," Italy replied.

"We're not done yet!" Germany shouted. Both of them snapped back into attention.

"Let's say England is approaching," Germany said. "Now, what do you do?"

***

England heard the sound of Germany's voice yelling not so far away. She smiled slyly as she headed in that direction.

"Stupid Germany," she muttered to no one in particular. "Your secrecy is no match for my superior spying abilities."

She got as close to the training Axis as she could and settled behind a bush to watch them.

"Next," she heard Germany say. What she heard next though, was so embarrassing that she couldn't stop herself from squawking in shame. "What will you do if you find England dancing obscenely while wearing an outfit from Rio's carnival?"

Before anyone could answer Germany's question, England stood up in outrage. "I cannot believe any of you would think that I would actually be caught in such indecency!" Then, shocked by what she had just done, she covered her mouth with her hand.

"England!" the Axis said simultaneously.

Italy had drawn up a white flag out of nowhere and started waving it around yelling, "We surrender!"

The other two, who seemed to be unarmed, stood looking ready to make a move against her at the slightest provocation.

England, recovering herself, rapidly thought of a way to get out of this situation. "Er, yeah...so, I obviously shouldn't be here. Now, if everyone would just forget about this little incident...I'll be going."

"Wait a minute!"

England turned back nervously. "Yeah?"

"Under the rules of war, we're supposed to attack you," Germany said sternly. "Now since we are unarmed, we will use this opportunity to practice our French accents."

"Oh, is that all," she said, relieved. "Go ahead. Get it over with," England prompted. "So I can leave already."

"Er, Germany," Japan said nervously. "Is this really the time?"

"Yeah, Germany," Italy said, nodding. "Maybe we should just wait for our next meeting."

"No, we should try it now," Germany insisted. "So, just like we practiced it...one, two, three..." Despite Germany's cue, no one said a thing. Imitating France proved more embarrassing than beneficial to any of them.

England sighed. "It seems you three need a new strategy, huh? Don't worry, I'll stay out of your way this time." She turned to leave again, but soon suddenly came to a stop. "Hey," she said, turning her head to look at them. "If France _ever _mentions anything about me attending Rio's party, he's lying, alright?"

"Yeah, okay," Italy hurriedly agreed, eager to see England leave.

England nodded before, finally, leaving for good.

Japan watched her leave, blinking in shock. "What now?"

Germany sighed. "Now we have to think of a new battle strategy...and find a better place to train."

Japan nodded. "I'll go pack up our supplies."

* * *

"Alright, America, here's how we'll do it," England explained to the sleepy America in front of her. They were preparing for their coming attack on Germany in Italy. "We will launch the joint attack tomorrow, at noon. According to my strategists, our much larger number of troops will overpower—"

It was at that moment when England was suddenly hit by a giant star from nowhere.

America was suddenly wide awake. "England! England! What's that on your head? It looks so cool! Can I touch it? Please? Please? Please?"

England was too busy gasping in pain, on the floor, to reply. America still kept going on about how amazing England's 'hat' looked. This went on for a full five minutes.

"America!" she screamed when she finally recovered enough to think straight. "Will you please stop going on about that nonsense and get this thing off my head?!"

"But it's so cool!"

"I don't care what you think about it. I just want it off of me. It feels like a hundred pounds sitting on my head."

"Pounds? Like money?"

"No!"

"Oh...so how does it feel like?"

"Painful! Get it off!"

"Wait, so you're being serious?"

"America!"

* * *

England heard someone bursting into her sick room at a run. She didn't know who it was but she secretly hoped it was America. If her condition was as bad as she felt, then she didn't think she would last very long.

"E-England?" a panicky voice called. She recognized the voice. It was him and realizing this made her feel all warm and sentimental inside.

"Is it true you were seriously injured?" America continued, quickly coming beside her.

She felt for his hand and gave it a small squeeze. "America," she said, opening her eyes to look at him.

America looked really concerned. "Who did it? Was it Germany?" he continued asking.

"N-no," she answered in a soft voice. "It was this new weapon I was making, the Panjandrum. Well, I guess you can say things didn't really work out with it so..." She trailed off, feeling too weak to continue. Her eyes started to close again.

"England!" America yelled, shaking her awake. "N-no way is this happening! Pull yourself together! You can't die! You...you still owe me money—"

"America..." she interrupted. "I...know we spent all our time fighting but I want you to know...it's....it's not like I really hate you." She took a few more ragged breaths. "And I...I..."

She trailed off again. England felt sure that it was the end of her. She was too weak to do anything else but breathe.

:E-England?" she heard America say beside her.

Next thing she knew, someone was patting her roughly on the head. She wanted to react but she found herself unable to move.

When the patting stopped she heard America's voice. "Wow, England's really a goner!" she heard him say in a surprisingly happy voice. "I'm going to go celebrate!"

Shocked, England immediately willed her body to sit up. Suddenly, she didn't feel so weak anymore. "What? I almost died and you were going to celebrate?" she cried out in indignation.

America was still smiling. "Ha! I knew you would wake up if I said that!"

In exasperation, England fell back into her pillow and refused to acknowledge America's presence for the rest of his hospital visit.

* * *

England was going to take the Italy brothers down, at least, that's what she planned to do.

She looked through her binoculars to see what was going on inside their house. The two were eating pasta, for the nth time that day.

She sighed. This was a good a time as any to try to break in. The two were distracted with their food, Germany wasn't in the house, there were no witnesses afoot, and there were no Italian reinforcements anywhere in sight.

England took a cautious step forward. So far, so good. Gaining more confidence she took another step, then another, then another until...

She found herself falling into a freshly dug hole. What made things worse was that the Italy brothers had heard her falling in and had come out to investigate.

_Why does everything always go wrong for me?_ she thought to herself as she waited to be discovered.

_To Be Continued._

* * *

_AN: The last strip is going to be continued in the next instalment :) _

_Sorry for making this so random. Hope it's enjoyable anyway :D _


	25. Of Random Episodes and Manga Strips II

England still couldn't believe that she had just gotten herself caught by the Italy brothers. The pathetic way both of them were acting now did nothing to help her self-esteem.

"This is your fault, Feli. If you weren't so careless then England wouldn't be our hostage right now."

"I'm sorry, brother," the other Italian sobbed. "I didn't know that the hole a couple of kids dug in my backyard would catch England. Brother, I'm so scared. What if she makes our house explode?"

"If that happens then it's all because of you! If you ever find England in a hole again, I am going to push you in so that you'd be stuck there with her!"

"No, no, no! I promise, Lovi. I won't ever do it again. Don't make me stay here with her. Please, please, please—"

"Alright, never, huh? I'll give you ten seconds. Say, "I'll never take England hostage," one hundred times."

"Brother, I can't talk that fast!"

"Well too bad!"

England sighed in exasperation. She might as well use this time to her advantage. Looking around her prison cell, she spotted a shovel. The ground under her feet was composed of loose soil. If she had just enough time, she could dig herself out.

She took a peek at the Italians, who had now gone to the next room and were still arguing about what to do with her. With them out of the way, she could start digging.

***

_Two hours later_

England crawled out of the hole looking soiled and exhausted yet triumphant.

"Yes!" she said to herself as she dusted her clothes. "That shows them not to underestimate the British Empire!"

Still, she had been too careless today. If Germany had been present, the consequences of her mistake would've been unimaginable. Now that she had escaped, all she had to do was to blend in with the Italian public and make her way to the hidden British plane waiting to take her back home.

England was glad to say that she had packed some extra clothes in her knapsack (which the Italians were too idiotic to take away from her). She found some place to change before she set out to walk the streets of Italy.

***

_Well, that was pretty easy,_ she thought smugly, making her way through crowds of people. In her preoccupation of escaping, she didn't notice the people who were looking strangely, particularly the German nearby.

She was surprised, then, when she found herself being captured a second time.

"What the—"

"You!" she heard her assailant say behind her. "What are you doing in Italy? And what were you doing coming from Italy's house, huh? Answer me!"

"Germany?! Get your bloody hands off me!" she said, struggling.

"Not a chance, England!" he said, already dragging her back in the direction she came from. "I don't know what you did or were planning to do, but I know you're up to no good!"

"I wasn't doing anything wrong! I was just escaping from those two idiots you call allies!"

Germany stopped. "They managed to catch you all by themselves?"

"By _accident_," England said, trying to save her pride.

"That's a surprise," he muttered, continuing his efforts in dragging her back towards Italy's house.

"What I really want to know is what gave me away," England murmured, sounding peeved.

"Well, since your horrid sense of fashion made you stick out like a sore thumb."

"_Excuse _me?"

And that was the day England decided that she would never tease France for his superfluous concern in matters of fashion again.

* * *

For once, America was the first to arrive for the Allied Forces meeting.

"Ha," he said to himself. "I wonder what all the others would say when they see that I'm the first one to arrive. They'll surely call me a hero then!"

He was about to step into the room when he noticed someone drawing on the chalkboard. It was England. America peeped into the room from behind the slightly open door.

She was drawing the Axis Powers on the chalkboard (in a very cute drawing style, he observed).

"So she's the one who's been drawing the portraits," he said to himself. He almost didn't realize England finishing her drawings and getting ready to leave the room. He jumped out of sight just in time.

When she was gone, America walked into the meeting room and looked at the chalkboard carefully.

England's pictures were alright, but he was sure that he could do an even better job. Determined to outshine everyone once again, he decided to draw the Allies in an awesomely American drawing style.

***

When England had returned, France, Russia and China were with her. They walked into the room and quickly noticed the unusual illustrations on the board.

"What are these doodles, aru?" China asked, looking at the board in concentration.

"I think those are supposed to be of us," England said, looking bewildered.

France pointed to one of the figures on the board. "Are you saying that this is supposed to be me? My beauty isn't captured at all!"

"At least it's a perfect rendition of your face, France. The drawing of me looks like it has caterpillars on its forehead or something," England complained.

"They look so creepy," China said, concentrating on each of the weird caricatures.

Russia suddenly got out a pickaxe from nowhere. "If that's me can I stab the chalkboard?"

"No!" everyone else yelled simultaneously, looking terrified at the sight of a pickaxe in Russia's hands.

America, sensing his plan backfiring, decided to claim no connection to the weird drawings on the board. "You guys are right! We have to make the person who drew these pictures pay, even if they did illustrate us in a New York drawing style which is still relatively cute but unacceptable in this case."

England sighed. "So it was you, huh, America?"

At this, Russia perked up and raised his pickaxe threateningly. "America, perhaps you would like to help me sharpen my pickaxe while we discuss your interesting artistry."

And so began a perfectly normal Allied Forces meeting.

* * *

"Ah, England," a familiar voice said behind her. It sounded a lot like Sealand except this voice was deeper, older. She turned around to see a young man walking towards her.

"I'm so happy you came over here to congratulate me. I mean, you're my older sister and all so it's a pretty big deal for me," the young man was saying.

England felt smaller now that he was standing beside her. "Yeah?" she said nervously.

The man nodded. "Hey, England, who ever thought that a change in the Earth's crust would cause a large area of land to come up from beneath me? Well, it's really cool that happened and all since I'm a country now because of it..."

England finally processed it all. "S-Sealand?"

"Yeah, England? Hey, you suddenly look all pale...are you alright?"

Before she could realize it, she was losing consciousness.

***

England woke up with a start. She panicked for a minute before she realized that she was safe at home, in her bed. It had all just been part of a horrible nightmare.

She thought to herself as she settled back into bed that, next time, she wouldn't eat as many scones before going to sleep.

* * *

_AN: __Yes, I know this chapter was completely fail. I'm sorry for that :( _

_**IMPORTANT MESSAGE:**__ There are only going to be 5 more chapters in this series! It's all ending so soon :( _

_To thank all of you for the support you have given this fic, 2 of the remaining chapters in this fic are going to be __**your requests**__! _

_So, if anyone wants to make a request for what they want to see in the coming chapters please just feel free to put it in a comment/review. If I get more than 2 requests, I will either follow the 'first come first serve' rule or I will try to combine two or more requests. _

_My only conditions are that __**each person can only request one plot that can fit one chapter**__ and that __**the rating of this chapter must stay at PG/K+.**_

_Thanks again for everything, you guys :) _


	26. The Problem with Colonies and Favoritism

_AN: Sorry this took so long. I had a really bad case of writer's block so I decided to write this request first. Don't worry though, I've decided to combine a few requests so I'll basically be able to write something for everyone who requested so far. _

_Just a short explanation before I get on with the fic, I post this series in two places: LJ and . So technically, I have four request slots. Since some readers basically just requested for fluff, I incorporated that fluff into the requests of others so that I'd have more request slots. So that's just an explanation in case people are wondering why I'm accepting more than two requests. _

_This fic was requested by __**galeaya **__but it's also for those who wanted fluff :) Hope you guys like it. _

_Last Note: I ignored the time difference between the colonization of America and the other colonies so this isn't historically accurate. Also, England is such an awesome captain that an around trip from America to Australia is not really a big deal. Yeah, I know that in reality such a trip would take years but I didn't put significance on that detail._

_Okay, finally on to this chapter (which is longer than my usual chapters)_

***

It couldn't have been a more perfect day for the _Britannia_ to come ashore. The sun was bright in the sky, there was hardly a cloud in sight and there was a cool breeze coming from the ocean that gave the air a familiar, salty scent. Nothing could have made this day more ideal for Alfred to spend with his beloved caretaker.

The young boy watched excitedly as members of the ship's crew started to unload their cargo unto the pier. He had little interest for these people but in watching them, he made himself ready to receive his much awaited visitor. After what seemed like a long wait, she finally came out of the ship, holding a small sack filled with souvenirs that were undoubtedly for him.

"Anne!" he yelled, ignoring the amused looks of the people around him. He ran to the person he had been waiting so eagerly for and gave her a hug.

England chuckled merrily, patting the back of Alfred's head which was already level with her waist. When she had last seen him, he had been much shorter than this. He grew up so fast.

"How have you been, Alfred?" she asked, looking down at him fondly as he broke the hug and stepped back. She could feel the stares of her crew members directed at her. In her ship, she was the hard and fearless captain who showed no affection to anyone who worked under her. Seeing her as a doting mother-figure to a little boy probably gave them a slight shock. England ignored them. It wasn't any of her crew members' business if she had a soft spot for her charge anyway.

"Oh, I'm alright but it's been boring around here without you," he said with a pout. Then he complained, "I thought you said you were going to write me every day! You're always gone a long time and I hardly even get to hear from you."

"I'm sorry, Alfred," England replied apologetically. "I did tell you that I might become too busy to—"

"You always say that," he interrupted looking sulky for another moment before cheering up again. He wasn't going to let England's previously busy schedule make him feel bad when he ought to be happy. "Anyway, you're here now! Let's do something fun together...like a picnic outside! Can we?"

Anne felt relieved at his change of mood. "Of course, anything you want to do."

"Great! We're going to do a lot of things together while you're here...I've made plans and everything!" he said enthusiastically.

She laughed. The boy's energy was one of the things she admittedly found endearing about him. "Wonderful! I'm glad you've been keeping yourself busy."

He beamed back at her then said in a serious tone, "But you have to promise that you aren't going to spend your time here _working_." He said this last word with an obvious tone of disgust.

England hesitated for a moment. She did have some work she planned to accomplish but the pleading look on Alfred's face made her decide to promise otherwise. "Alright," she replied with a small smile. "I promise not to work while I'm here."

"You _really_ promise?"

She nodded and raised her right hand up. "Captain's honor."

His smile grew wider.

"Now," she said, putting down her hand and taking his, "let's go home and have that picnic you mentioned. I have a couple of surprises for you." She shook the sack she held on her other hand and his eyes widened in curiosity as he gazed at it.

Eager to see what she had for him, he quickly led the way as they walked to the house they both acknowledged as their home.

***

They were both sitting outside in the sun, finishing their afternoon meal when England decided to mention her little gifts to him again.

"Are you finished eating, Alfred?" she asked, watching the boy lick his plate clean of the last of their pudding.

He nodded vigorously, hoping that England's surprises for him would be revealed soon.

Seeing his excitement, she found herself greatly amused. "I know what you're thinking, Alfred. I'll give you your gifts soon but I have to explain things a bit first."

He just looked back at her with an expectant smile, waiting for her to say her piece.

"The reason I haven't been able to write as often," she started, "is because I've been sailing the seas pretty much all the time. After my last visit, I stopped by at the motherland for a week or so, then I went to visit my other colonies."

"Other colonies?" he asked, looking disheartened. He sometimes forgot that he wasn't the only one who looked up to England as an older sister. Alfred wondered why England was even mentioning them to him.

"Yes," England said, not noticing his negative reaction. "I know you like hearing about my travels so I decided to bring back some things from each of the places I visited to give to you."

"Thanks, England." Alfred smiled again, feeling comforted that she had remembered him throughout her voyages at sea. "So...can I see what you got me now, _please_?" he asked impatiently, tugging at the sack.

"Alright, alright," England said with a light chuckled. "Don't get too excited. Now, the first place I stopped by would be Africa."

His eyes grew wide in amazement as he imagined the exotic lands England just mentioned. "Africa?"

She nodded.

"What's it like there?" Alfred asked, forgetting about his gifts for a moment.

"Curious are you? Well, it's very warm there, lots of desert places. Actually, the thing I find interesting about Africa is all the strange animals there," England said, recalling her short stay there.

"Like purple bears and giant ants?" America asked, wondering if those were the types of strange animals England was talking about.

Anne laughed. "No, Alfred. I don't know where you've heard of purple bears and giant ants but I'm quite sure you won't find them in Africa."

His cheeks turned pink in embarrassment. "What animals _do _you find there, then?" he asked, sounding a bit defensive.

"Oh, all sorts of things," England replied. "Big, ferocious cats, zebras—which are kind of like striped horses, humongous elephants with long, windy tusks, and a lot of other amazing things."

"Really, England?" Alfred asked, absolutely enthralled with England's descriptions.

England nodded. "One day, I'll take you with me to Africa and I can show you all the animal pelts the villagers have there. We can't actually see the animals themselves up close since most of them will attack us on sight. Now, that reminds me..." She pulled something out from the sack which appeared to be a piece of fabric.

Alfred took it and ran his finger through the soft side of the material. "What is it?"

"It's a piece of lion skin. When I arrived, they had recently shot one that was threatening to attack their settlement. I didn't want to bring you the whole pelt since I know how easily you get nightmares."

"Wow, England. Thanks," he said, still examining the swatch of lion skin. It was astonishing to think about how that piece of material was once part of a living, breathing lion.

England watched him, smiling in endearment. She loved how the boy could find so much satisfaction in little things. Life with him was so uncomplicated, a good break from the tangled mess of British politics. "Shall I move on to the next colony I visited?" she asked, reaching into the sack for her next gift.

"Wait," he said, looking at her again. "What else did you do in Africa?"

"How inquisitive you suddenly are! And I thought you only cared about the gifts!" she said, pleased with the boy's new found curiosity. "Well, I talked to my colonies there about what their people needed, signed some paperwork, had some boring business meetings I'm sure you wouldn't find interesting..."

"You talked to your colonies there?" he asked suddenly. He wondered whether any one of England's charges in Africa were as close to her as he was or whether they ever thought of having a picnic with her like they were doing now.

"Yes," England replied with a nod. Pleased as she was, she could not help wondering why Alfred was asking so many questions about her African colonies.

Alfred looked as if he was concentrating. "Are they much older than me?"

"Some of them look about my age, some look a bit younger than that. Yes, they're all a bit older than you...but that doesn't really matter," England reassured. "Now, about your next gift—"

He wasn't done asking questions yet, though. "Are they nice?"

England's brows furrowed in confusion, still not sure where the boy's questions were going. "They're friendly enough, very welcoming. Some of them are a bit quiet though, so I'm not exactly very close to them personally. Why do you ask?"

Alfred felt a sense of relief. None of England's colonies in Africa were as dear to her as he was and that made him feel wonderful for some reason. "No reason," he said with an innocent smile. "Where did you go next?"

England reached for the next gift in her pouch again. "Australia," she said dramatically, enjoying the astonished look on the boy's face.

"But isn't that really far away?" Alfred asked. The thought of such a long voyage was amazing to someone like him who had never been away from his own country before.

"Yes, it was but I wanted to stop by there first before going to Asia. I had more urgent business to take care of there," she hurriedly explained. "Well, I'll tell you a bit about Australia since you seem keen on finding out about these far off places. It's a bit like Africa there. A bit hot, lot's of strange animals. The people there have an amazing culture. They have these interesting instruments they call didgeridoos!"

"Deejery-what?" he asked, looking puzzled.

"Didgeridoos," England repeated patiently. "They're these long tubes that make a queer sound when you blow in them. The people there use them to make music."

"Wow!" Alfred exclaimed, already imagining himself blowing into a long tube.

"I have a rather small didgeridoo in the _Britannia_. I could go back for it sometime so I can show you. I have no clue how to play it though, so don't expect me to try," she said.

Alfred laughed. "I won't. So, what animals did you find in Australia?"

"A friendlier bunch of creatures there, that's for sure. Of course, you wouldn't really want to upset a dingo or a kangaroo but—"

"Kangaroo?" he asked, eyes wide. "What are those?"

England smiled. "That's where my gift comes in." She pulled a carved miniature of the mentioned creature out of the sack.

"This," she said, showing him the carved figure, "is a kangaroo. It's much bigger than this, though."

Alfred laughed, taking the kangaroo wood carving. "It looks like a rabbit! Does it really stand like that?"

She nodded. "It jumps like that too. That's how it moves."

"Really? How peculiar!" he said, using a word he often heard England use.

Anne laughed. Being with the boy did wonders for her disposition, making her happier and more carefree than she usually was. "Yes, peculiar indeed," she agreed with an amused smile. "And you see this pouch it has on its belly? That's where it keeps its children!"

"No way!" he said, shocked. "I thought that's where it stuffs everything it eats! What a strange animal."

England nodded, trying not to burst out laughing at Alfred's previous thought of the use of a kangaroo pouch.

"What about Australia? How is he?" he asked. Anne had once mentioned this other colony to him before and he was curious to hear about this other country again.

Anne's face became a little more serious at the thought of her other colony. "He's alright. Not exactly too pleased to have me visit, actually. Lately, he's been taking it upon himself to annoy me by bringing home all sorts of strange insects. I really should write to the British officials there and ask them to do something about that boy and his interest in dangerous bugs."

Alfred suddenly gave her a sweet smile. "I don't annoy you, right England?"

"No," she said with a chuckled, patting Alfred's head. "You're always my lovable, obedient little brother. Sometimes I wish Australia was a bit more like you, so respectful to your elders and all."

The boys smile grew even wider. It warmed his insides whenever England said things like these. The comment about wanting Australia to follow his example made him feel good too.

"That reminds me," Anne said, taking something out from the pouch again. It was a something bent and wooden. "Australia asked me to give you this. It's a boomerang, a weapon they used to hit people. It's supposed to come back to you when you throw it. The thing is dangerous if you hit someone, though so I don't want you to start tossing it around everywhere. I suspect Australia wants you to give me a hard whack with it or something."

"Awesome," he said, holding the boomerang in his hands. As tempting as it was to give it a try, he decided against it knowing that he had no idea how to control the thing. "I'll write to Australia to say thanks later. So, where else did you visit?"

"The ship docked at Singapore and Malaysia for an hour or so each but I didn't really do anything there. We just picked up a couple of emissaries to check on the status of the colonies. After we left there, we headed to India."

"What did you see there?" he asked curiously, not having heard much about this foreign land.

"There were all sorts of colorful sights and sounds, Alfred," she said, getting lost in the memory of her stay in India. "Lots of new smells, different sorts of food...amazing, it was. The women there wrap these colorful cloths around them into dresses called saris and they have all sorts of spices they sell in the markets. If I could, I would bring you there so you could see it all."

"Ooh, bring me with you the next time you go, England. I never get to see anything cool and different here," he said with a pout. "So...what did you get me from there?"

England brought out a small, sealed bottle from the sack. "This," she said, holding up the glass container, "is the scent of a very beautiful flower called the jasmine. The flower is very important to the people in India so I thought this would be something that would remind you of the country well. India always wears one of these flowers behind her ear, you know."

Alfred uncorked the glass bottle and sniffed the contents. It was a sweet smelling scent, albeit a bit different from the flower scents he knew. "Thanks, England," he said gratefully, closing the bottle again. Then, suddenly remembering the rest of what Anne just stated, said, "You haven't told me about India yet. Is she nice?"

"Oh, she's a very pleasant, vibrant child. Quite a good cook too," she added. "I think you'd like her if you two met each other."

Alfred suddenly felt some competition. "You two are very close?" he asked, trying not to look bothered.

England shrugged. "We get along but...we don't share many common interests, I'm afraid. Plus, neither of us have any time to spend with each other since I rarely visit except for business and she usually prefers being with playmates her age."

Once again, he felt relieved. "That's too bad," he said, trying to look like he actually meant it.

England nodded, silent for a few moments before continuing the tale of her journeys. "Now, for my last major stop..."

Alfred was excited again. "Where did you go?"

"I visited your brother, what's-his-name," she said, trying to remember what that colony was called. "I keep forgetting his name."

"My brother?" Alfred asked, confused. He often forgot that he had a brother.

"Yes, that cold country north of you where people speak French," England said, still attempting to recall. "Ca—Canary—Canterbury...something with a 'can' in it, I think. Can-Canada, there!" Anne yelled triumphantly.

"Canada, oh yeah," he said, recalling as well.

"It was very cold there, as you already know. The people are polite, despite the fact that they speak like Francis. It's a very beautiful place, actually. Lots of deer, elk, some bears. The place is full of pine trees, which brings me to my last two gifts. Mat-something—ah, Matthew and I picked them out together." She took out a pine cone and a jar of viscous liquid. Alfred let her explain the presents without interruption.

"The pine cone," England said, indicating the said object, "conked Matthew on the head when we were walking to his house. He remembered you and thought you would like to have something a bit iconic of his country. Plus, he thought you'd have a good laugh knowing how he came across this thing."

Alfred did, indeed, have a good laugh about the pine cone. "So what's in the bottle?"

"Ah, another iconic product of Canada's: maple syrup. Matthew and I thought you might want to try it with scones, to see if it would make them taste even more delicious than they already are," she said, handing him the two gifts.

He opened the jar and ate some of the maple syrup with his finger. It _did_ taste really good. "This is awesome. Thanks, Anne," he said with a smile. Then he decided to ask about his brother, "So how is Mattie? Does he still have that talking bear he carries around all the time?"

"Yes, I think so. He's fine. Shy and quiet as always but he was very welcoming, very sweet. Such a good boy he is, I sometimes forget that France raised him for part of his childhood."

"Really?" Alfred asked, feeling a bit disheartened with the way she described Canada. What if England liked his brother as much as she liked him?

She nodded. "You too are actually a lot alike. You two are friendly, good-natured, and _very_ handsome young boys," she said in a slightly teasing tone, making Alfred feel flattered. "But he's much more quiet than you are," she continued.

"Is being quiet a good thing?" he asked in a small voice. If he and Mat-something were only different in one way and England preferred his brother in that perspective, it would mean that he wasn't the colony Anne liked best.

Being his caretaker's favourite meant a lot more to Alfred than he let on.

"Sometimes," England replied as Alfred watched her carefully, "but personally I feel more at ease with someone a little more outgoing."

Alfred was instantly cheered. "Like me?"

England nodded. "Yes, like you, exactly why I love being with you so much. Matthew and my other colonies are all special in their own ways but, I have to admit, it's you I feel most comfortable with."

"Is that true, England?"he asked.

Anne nodded.

"So I _am_ your favourite!" he yelled out triumphantly.

"Wait a minute," England said, surprised. "I don't remember saying that."

Alfred was too happy to have that discourage him. "But you just did, remember? 'It's you I feel most comfortable with.'"

England sighed. "Yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean that—"

"Yes it does!" Alfred interrupted her cheerfully.

"But—" England said, not sure how to explain. In the end, she just decided to give Alfred the satisfaction. "If you say so, Alfred," she said compliantly.

"There's nothing wrong with having favourites, Anne. 'Cause you see," he turned a bit pink at this, "I have a favourite person too."

England raised an eyebrow. "Who would that be?"

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck. "You."

Anne, despite being slightly taken aback, smiled. "I'm very glad to hear that, Alfred. Honestly, I am." And it was true, for some reason, Alfred's affection meant a lot to her.

His blush became even more pronounced.

"So you see?" he said, recovering himself. You're my favourite, and I'm yours. It's only fair, right?"

England chuckled. "I guess I see the logic in that."

She helped him put his gifts back in the pouch and they headed back into the house, Alfred all the while telling her of all the things they should do together for the rest of the day.

***

Later that night, Anne paid a short visit into her sleeping colony's room. Alfred had become tired out by the afternoon they spent together and had fallen asleep in his bedroom straight after dinner. She brushed a bit of hair from the boy's face before standing up and sneaking off to the study.

Despite promising not to work during her stay in America, England intended to finish the documents her boss had marked imperative for her to complete. Determined to please America though, she intended to spend every one of his waking moments at his side, even if it meant doing her work in the middle of the night.

She entered the study, lit the oil lamp on the table and sat down with a sigh. When Alfred had mentioned favouritism she was initially disapproving but what the boy said had gotten her thinking: what she was doing now was a lot of trouble to go through for keeping a small promise to a young colony. If this was anyone else, any other colony for that matter, she knew she wouldn't have bothered to make things difficult for herself. For Alfred, though, she felt as if she would go through any lengths just to make him happy. Maybe he was right about favourites, maybe she wasn't as objective about her colonies as she had convinced herself.

As she took a pen in her right and drew a piece of paper closer to her with the other, she found herself smiling. If her favouritism with Alfred was as obvious as day, at least she had the consolation of knowing that she was a favourite of his as well.


	27. Heroics Gone Too Far

_AN: This one's for __**shantari**_**. **_All about Alfred and the early stage of his_ 'hero'_ addiction. Another chapter closer to the end, thanks once again for everyone who supported this :)_

_PS. Yes, Alfred calls England, Annie sometimes. I can just imagine England's siblings having a laugh at that. _

***

Alfred was going through a stage.

It had all started around the time England had told him the tale of St. George and the dragon. The idea of daring adventures and brave knights seemed to appeal to the boy and England, thinking to promote his love for English storytelling, unwisely decided to tell him more legends of this sort. Now, Alfred was, to say the least, obsessed.

For the first few days of this 'stage', England played along. As the days became weeks, she started to ignore it, knowing that it _had_ to pass sometime soon. It was only after a month of 'heroics' and an unfortunate accident that Anne was forced to acknowledge that Alfred's addiction had gone much too far...

It was supposed to be just another ordinary day. She had work to do, Alfred had his childish games to play and she had asked him to stay well away from her study so as to preserve her default rate of efficiency. Her requests, though, never really stopped the eager child from visiting her during these times. And that's where the real trouble began.

"Oh shoot, why did I ever place that file there?" England murmured to herself, stretching her arm to its limits so as to reach a much needed folder.

Half-way through her paperwork, she had realized that she needed to look at some old files for reference. She looked through her shelves of papers only to find out that the file she needed was one of the highest ledges. Typical for something like this to happen to her.

She made a noise caught between a groan and a sigh. It was obvious that she wasn't going to be able to reach the file without stepping on a chair or pedestal of some sort. She walked back towards her working desk and carried her chair from there to the shelves. It was at this point that Alfred decided to walk into the room.

"Anne, what are you doing?" he asked, looking curiously at her as she positioned the chair.

She jumped a bit in surprise, not having heard him come in. "Oh, it's just you, Alfred. I'm just trying to get some files."

Alfred wasn't finished asking questions, though. "What's that chair for?" he asked, looking at the object and back at her again.

"Well, the papers are up there. I just need something to climb on so I can reach them." As soon as the words left her lips, England regretted saying them. If Alfred was determined to stay true to his new found ideals, then she was sure of what was coming next.

Alfred suddenly gave her a huge grin. "I'll get those papers for you!" he declared in an unnecessarily brazen tone.

Anne nearly groaned because of the predictability and foolishness of what he just said. Instead she reasoned desperately, "Now, that won't be necessary, Alfred. I can very much handle this on my own. Surely you have something else you'd rather be doing."

The boy shook his head profusely. "Helping others is a hero's first priority! Besides, it's in the code of 'shivering', or something like that, to help damsels in stress."

This time, England really groaned. Here was Alfred with this 'hero' nonsense again.

"Don't you mean distress?" she pointed out feebly.

"Oh, I though they meant the same thing," Alfred replied. "Anyway, I'm going to get those files now."

Before England could stop him, Alfred hoisted himself up the chair and stood on it.

That's when she started to panic. "Wait, a minute—Alfred! Get down from there! Please—if you don't come down here I—Alfred!"

"Stop worrying, Anne," he said reassuringly, already reaching out for the files. "I've almost got them."

Despite standing on a chair, Alfred was still about a foot away from the files. He lifted his right leg up and put it on the ledge directly in front of him, intent on using the shelves as a ladder.

"Alfred, what are you doing? No, Alfred—oh, please be careful! Wait, no—don't climb up that way!" she yelled desperately.

He paid no attention to her but instead lifted himself up another shelf. "I'm nearly the—ah!"

Alfred's foot slipped as he climbed up the next ledge, making him lose his balance. Before England could realize what was happening, he had already fallen off the shelves and was on the floor. From the pained look on his face, it was obvious that he didn't have a very good landing.

"Alfred!" she yelled, hurriedly going toward him. She crouched beside him and took his face in her hands. The boy's eyes were filling up with tears. "Al, what's wrong?"

The tears in his eyes started spilling out. "My leg," he answered, his voice barely a whisper. "Annie, it really _hurts."_

England looked at his leg. A part of it was slightly swelling. She knew it wouldn't be advisable move him just in case something was broken.

"It's going to be alright, Alfred," she said comfortingly, trying not to look anxious. "I'm going to get the physician. He'll stop the pain."

Anne started to stand up but Alfred grabbed her hand and squeezed it hard. "Don't leave me!" he pleaded, pulling her back toward him.

"But Alfred, you need the physician—"

"_Please,_" he begged.

The look on his face made England reconsider. "Alright," she gave in, "I'll just go as far as the doorway so I can call for the house keeper." Alfred was about to interrupt again but she cut across him, "I _won't_ leave the room. Just as far as the doorway. I don't know anything about medicine, Alfred. You need to see a physician so we can sort you out. Alright?"

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. Anne ran to the doorway and called for help.

***

The physician left the house that very evening. From what Anne understood, a bone in Alfred's leg had been cracked by the force of his fall. It wasn't a complete break but Alfred was now confined to bed for about a month as a precautionary measure against bone displacement. Her heroic little colony wasn't exactly taking this very well.

"A whole month?" he asked disbelievingly, looking up at her. She had been at his bedside ever since the physician left.

She nodded.

Alfred's expression suddenly became rebellious. "No!"

"_Yes_," she replied sternly. "That's how long you have to stay here if you ever want to get your leg fixed up again."

"No!" he said again. "I'll be well by tomorrow, you'll see!" he declared in a loud voice. "Heroes always get better after a fight! They don't have to stay in bed for one month!"

England felt exasperated all over again. "Alfred, _please._ It's that attitude that got you confined to your bed in the first place. Those things about heroes are just in the stories, Alfred."

"But there are real heroes too!" he argued childishly. "You said so."

She sighed. Was there no way of reasoning with the boy? "Yes, Alfred, there may be real heroes but _they_ have enough common sense to know when they should stay in bed or not!"

Alfred didn't reply but still looked back at her sullenly.

Anne knew it would be useless to keep arguing with him and deprive him of well-needed rest. It was about time for her to leave and let him sleep.

Seeing as Alfred's expression wasn't so hostile anymore, she decided that it would be safe for her to say her goodnights. Carefully, so as not to disturb the injured leg, she lifted her arm from her side and pushed the hair back from his face.

"Things will look better in the morning," she said gently before leaning down to kiss his forehead. "Goodnight, Alfred."

Anne had stood up and was already walking to the door when she heard him bid her goodnight as well.

***

When Alfred woke up the next morning, he was greeted by the sight of his caretaker standing beside his bed, carrying a tray heavy-laden with food.

"Anne?" he said groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Good morning, Alfred," England greeted, putting the tray down on the nearest surface (which, in this case, was a side table). She helped him sit up as he was having trouble doing so himself with his leg in a splint.

He glanced at the tray on the side table. "What's this food for, Anne?"

"Breakfast," she answered, "in bed. I _did_ promise you that things would look better in the morning, right?"

Alfred seemed to suddenly remember that he was restricted to bed because his expression fell. "I'm not hungry," he said gloomily, trying to lie back down.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not hungry," he said again. He wasn't exactly very successful in his attempts to lie down again so he just avoided England's now-annoyed gaze.

"Any specific reason why you won't eat the breakfast I so painstakingly prepared?" Anne asked bitterly.

Alfred pouted. He hadn't wanted to offend her. "You're only doing this because you feel sorry for me," he muttered.

"What?"

"I said—"

"Yes," England interrupted. "I know what you said. I just don't understand how such a thought could occur to you."

He tried to explain himself but was cut off again.

"The reason why I'm doing this, Alfred, is not because I feel sorry for you. It's because I wanted to give you a reason to smile this morning and no, Alfred, those two things don't mean the same thing. Now, is there a crime with trying to make my little hero happy?"

She wasn't exactly sure how that 'hero' comment got in her statement but, if anything, she had expected it to improve Alfred's mood. Instead, the 'hero' comment seemed to have accomplished the exact opposite effect. The boy looked absolutely depressed now.

Realizing that Alfred had a much bigger problem in this mind, she sat down beside him and put her arm around his shoulders comfortingly. "Alfred, what's really gotten you so down?"

He still didn't meet her gaze but she could imagine the hurt look in his eyes when he said, "I'm a terrible hero."

"What? No, you're—"

"It's true," Alfred insisted, looking up at her now. "I tried to do something heroic for you but then I messed up. Now, I can't even get myself out of bed. Annie, how can I be your hero if I can't even go downstairs to fetch my own breakfast?"

He was crying now, but he was too stubborn to acknowledge it. It was England who wiped the tears away for him. "Alfred...oh, Alfred, you've always been such a kind, helpful, good-natured boy. You have no idea how proud I am of you, and nothing is ever, ever going to change that. You don't have to imitate the people in those stories to be my hero."

"But—"

She silenced him by putting a finger to his lips. "Listen to me, Alfred. Remember, in those stories? Before heroes ever do any of those heroic deeds, they first had to learn how to be selfless, pure of heart, all those other things. You're already all of that, Al."

"Really?" he asked softly.

She nodded. "As long as you keep being the person you are now, nothing is ever going to stop you from being anyone's hero." Then, giving him a playful tap on the nose, she added, "especially mine."

Alfred finally smiled. Anne suddenly realized how much she missed the cheerfulness on his face and smiled back.

"So," England said, breaking the happy silence. "Can you eat your breakfast now? You're soup's getting cold and we both know how much you hate cold soup."

He nodded and Anne got the tray from the side table and placed it in front of him.

"Thanks," he said gratefully. He lifted up his soup spoon but stopped mid-way.

England's brows furrowed in concern. "Is something wrong?"

Alfred didn't reply but instead said, "Anne, can you promise me something?"

"Of course," she said immediately. "Anything."

"Can you promise that, even if I make mistakes, you'll always let me be your hero?"

Anne gave his arm a soft squeeze and smiled. "I promise, Alfred, that no matter what, you will always be my hero."

And since that day, Alfred held her to that promise.


	28. Blame Shakespeare

_AN: Still working on seiari's request. Yeah, it was harder to write than expected...but I'm working on it. It's about Chibirisu, just in case everyone's wondering. _

_So for more fluff...here's the cheesiest thing I have ever written. No exaggeration . Cheesiest thing I have ever written. I blame Shakespeare. _

_Also, in case everyone is wondering...America and England have an established relationship in this chapter :) _

_Thanks again for everything, everyone. :D _

_PS. Shakespeare quotes do not belong to me...neither do any of the characters. _

_***_

"Hey, Anne! What are you up to?"

She didn't even bother looking up, keeping her nose buried in her book. It was obviously a certain Alfred F. Jones. She didn't bother answering either, wasn't it obvious that she was reading?

He sat down beside her, not even waiting for acknowledgement. "What'ya reading?"

'What'ya' isn't even a word, she thought to herself. How many times did she have to tell him to use proper grammar?

"Shakespeare," she answered laconically.

He was perfectly used to her attitude, having learned centuries ago that she hated being bothered when she was reading.

"That's the title?" he asked, with mock confusion. She could hear the mischievous smile leaking into his tone.

Anne finally looked up, forced to acknowledge him. "It's the author, git."

"I thought so," Alfred said smugly, triumphant in finally getting a reaction from her. "Which book? I thought you already had all of his memorized by heart."

Automatically, she hid the book from view. Alfred would tease her endlessly if he knew what she was reading. "You don't need to know."

"Come on, Anne. I just want to see." He reached out for the book but Anne grabbed it and stretched her arm so it would stay out of his reach.

"No!" She shouldn't have reacted so violently. Now he knew something was up.

"Just the title?" He said, really curious now.

"No, Alfred!"

"Why not?"

"You're—," she said, hesitating to answer honestly, "you're going to laugh."

"No I'm not. Just let me see!" he said. Then, he started to use his dirtier tactics. He put on a pitiful pout he knew she would never be able to resist. "Please?"

Anne stubbornly looked away. "No."

"Fine," he murmured, switching to plan B. "If that's how you want to play it...tickle attack!"

"What, no wait—" she was cut off by her own fit of giggles. "Stop—Alfred, don't—alright, alright fine, you win!" she said, giving up. She shoved the book into his waiting hands and turned toward the other direction, crossing her arms.

"Romeo and Juliet?" Alfred asked in disbelief. Then, as predicted, he burst out laughing.

"Ha, ha," she said sarcastically. "Yes, very funny. Feel free to stop any day now."

"Sorry, Anne," he said, clutching his stomach. He placed his hand on her shoulder, prodding her to face him again. "It's just...that's the last book I expected you to be reading. I mean, no offense, you were never the type to read those romance novels."

Grudgingly, she faced him again. "'Romeo and Juliet' is not _just _a romance novel, you prat. It's a very well-written piece of literature that talks about early marriage and the consequences of young love in a society divided by anger, bloodlust and revenge."

"In short," Alfred said, "a very long and complicated _romance novel_."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up," she snapped and opened the book again, determined to keep reading no matter what Alfred would do or say to bother her.

Persistent as he always was, Alfred looked over her shoulder to see what part of the book she was reading. Unfortunately, this was sure to be another subject of his jibes.

"The balcony scene?" He seemed genuinely shocked. "You're reading the balcony scene?"

"_Yes_, I am reading the balcony scene," she answered irritably. "Is there anything wrong with that, Alfred?"

"But that's the cheesiest part."

"So?"

"It's the cheesiest part!"

She heaved a big sigh. "If you would look past the overused pick-up lines, like a _mature_ reader would, you would see that this scene actually carries a lot of depth. It's a confession of love amidst familial histories of hate and anger."

"But still! Look at this part for example: _But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!_," he quoted in a very fake love struck voice. "I mean, come on! What sane dude compares a girl to a sun?"

"It's called a metaphor," she retorted, completely exasperated now. "And if you're going to quote Shakespeare, you might as well do it properly."

"Alright, I will," he said resolutely. "But then tell me what's so great about the next line: _Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that thou her maid art far more fair than she._" He was quoting with proper emotion now. "How does this guy even know that the moon is a girl, or that she's 'sick and pale with grief'. Last time I checked, the moon has always been the same color."

For some reason, Anne felt her cheeks turn pink. Then, just as suddenly, she was annoyed again. "Haven't you ever heard of personification?"

"See, that's the problem," he replied. "Why couldn't Shakespeare write something without all those problematic thingys? It would've made things _so _much easier."

"Those 'thingys', as you so smartly call them, are what make this story a work of art and a treasure to literature."

"Yeah, sure. No wonder hardly anyone understands a word he writes in these things," he scoffed. "The only ones I've met who really understand all this without one of those reading guides are the scholar-type professors and this really ancient county named England."

She gave him a very hostile glare. "If you have nothing else of more sense to discuss, I would _very_ much like to get back to my book. To tell you the truth, Shakespeare makes a much better conversationalist."

"You're just mad because you hate age jokes," Alfred muttered.

Anne just continued reading. She didn't bother honouring that slightly-true statement with a reply.

A few seconds later, she turned to the next page. The first line of that page was the ending of Romeo's very long monologue. To her surprise, she heard his voice saying each word as she read.

"_See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!" _he whispered playfully into her ear. 

She froze. Despite trying to look annoyed, she found herself flushing pink again. Anne closed the book, willing her embarrassing reaction to just go away.

He was staring at her carefully. "Hey, I just discovered something," Alfred said triumphantly. "Ask me what it is."

"What is it?" she said obediently, still unable to sound or look upset.

He smirked. "You can't stay mad at me when I'm quoting Shakespeare, specifically when I'm acting out Romeo's lines."

"T-that's absurd!" she denied. "Shakespeare has no connection to you or how irritating I find you."

"You know what? I think it does. I never knew you had a thing for Romeo."

With an angry turn of her head, she sent another threatening glare at him. "I do _not_ have a _thing_ for Romeo. He's fickle, impulsive, and flirtatious, not to mention the fact that he reminds me way too much of you."

"Am I the reason why you like him so much?" he asked, teasingly.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," she snapped. "If you weren't listening carefully, I just called him fickle, impulsive and flirtatious."

"You're just in denial."

"I am _not_."

"In denial with him like you were with me," he insisted. "Don't worry, Anne," he said as he jokingly put a comforting hand on her shoulder, "it'll pass."

"Oh, shut up," she said, for the second time that day. Without thinking she opened the book again and started reading.

"Wait," Alfred suddenly said, blocking the page with his hand. "I just got the most brilliant idea ever."

For some reason, she knew that this idea wasn't going to end with her reading in peace.

"We should read out the balcony scene together. I'll play Romeo and you play Juliet," he explained excitedly.

"Excuse me?"

"Anne, it's a really simple idea. We—"

"Yes, I understand your idea. I just can't believe you just suggested I read out the lines of some love struck, teenage girl who's pining for some guy she only met a few hours ago!" she exclaimed.

"But it'll be fun, Anne," he said, getting ready to use his more effective tactics again. "We hardly get any time to spend together these days, and since you're reading anyway why can't I help enhance your reading experience?"

"We have a _lot _of time to spend together with you flying here at least once every two weeks. And reading together isn't exactly an activity I think I'll enjoy."

He put on that pout again, and this time he held her face between his hands so that she had to look. "Just this once, Anne. Pretty please?"

"No," she said resolutely after a few moments of vulnerability.

Realizing that his pouting powers were become less and less effective by the minute, he decided to work with the second tactic.

"Do I have to tickle you again, Anne?" he asked, half threateningly.

"Alfred, I won't stand for blackmail."

"I'm giving you five seconds," he said with mock seriousness.

Three seconds later, she gave in. "Fine, I'll do it," she said bitterly.

"Yes!" he cheered, punching the air with his fist.

She looked down at the book again. "So where do you want me to start?"

"The line after the one I already quoted," he said, pointing at Juliet's two-word line.

"_Ay me!" _she quoted grudgingly.

"Anne, using your very own words, I must say: 'If you're going to quote Shakespeare, you might as well do it properly'," he reminded her teasingly.

She breathed out sharply in fury. Inwardly, she swore to herself she would never give Alfred a reason to use her own words against her ever again. Then, after managing to find the proper emotion for the line she quoted it again."_Ay me!" _

Alfred smiled. "So much better," he complimented. "That sounded a lot like Juliet."

She now resented herself for managing to play the part of a lovey-dovey, teen-aged girl so convincingly.

"My turn now," he said, clearing his throat. "_She speaks. O, speak again, bright angel!—for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, as is a wingèd messenger of heaven unto the white-upturnèd wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he bestrides the lazy, puffing clouds and sails upon the bosom of the air."_

The way he said those words did not fail to make her blush again.

"Do I really have to say the next one?" Anne asked desperately, making her blush disappear. It was Juliet's most famous, and in her opinion, most irritating line.

"Yes," he replied. "I just said a really long one. It's only fair." Seeing the reluctance on her face, he added, "I won't laugh at you, I promise. You're actually playing her really well."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she murmured. Then, taking a deep breath, she uttered the most hated line. "_O Romeo, Romeo!—wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet."_

"_Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?" _ He absentmindedly played with her hair as he silently read the next line over her shoulder.

Anne inwardly sighed, wondering how he always managed to make her feel as love struck as Juliet.

"'_Tis but thy name that is my enemy. Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? It is nor hand nor foot nor arm nor face nor any other part belonging to a man,"_ she said, finding it almost completely unnecessary to feign Juliet's sugary emotion.

She continued. _"O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet."_ Anne paused here as Alfred took her hand in his. The warmth of his fingers was very comforting.

" _So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name; And for thy name, which is no part of thee, take all myself."_

For some reason, Alfred smiled. Despite his expression, though, he quoted in all seriousness. _"I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized. Henceforth I never will be Romeo." _

"What's so amusing?" she asked, curious.

"Nothing," he said, chuckling. "I was just thinking about what an eavesdropper Romeo is. If you and I were actually Romeo and Juliet, you'd probably be screaming at me by now. Not that I'd ever be stupid enough to broadcast the fact that I've been eavesdropping."

"Even if you stayed as quiet as you possibly could, I'd still know if you were eavesdropping," she said. "Not that I'd ever be foolish enough to spill out my innermost thoughts whilst standing at some random balcony. Now, shall I move on?"

He nodded eagerly.

"_What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, so stumblest on my counsel?"_

"_By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am. My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee. Had I it written, I would tear the word," _Alfred quoted, idly raising the hand of hers that he held and pressing it to his lips. Anne didn't bother reminding him that this was not part of the script.

"_My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words of thy tongue's uttering, yet I know the sound. Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?" _She didn't really care about how fluttery she sounded now, and in truth, she didn't want to think about it. If anybody but Alfred saw how she was acting now, she would never hear the end of it.

"_Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike."_

"_How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, and the place death, considering who thou art, if any of my kinsmen find thee here,"_ she said, feeling none of the concern Juliet ought to in this line. 

_ "With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls. For stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do, that dares love attempt. Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me."_

She silently fumed at Alfred for playing the part of Romeo so well, for somehow managing to say each Elizabethan word perfectly, for making her feel more enamoured than she thought humanly possible. If she didn't know better, she would accuse him of planning all of this from the very start just so that he could see her behaving this way.

_ "If they do see thee, they will murder thee."_

"Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords! Look thou but sweet, and I am proof against their enmity." 

_ "I would not for the world they saw thee here." _

_ "I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes. And but thou love me, let them find me here. My life were better ended by their hate than death proroguèd, wanting of thy love._" As he said this, he raised a finger to her lips, signalling her not to say the next line immediately.

Out of curiosity, she stayed silent.

"Anne," he said slowly. "Do Romeo and Juliet kiss sometime in this scene?"

She shook her head. "There's one kiss in the previous act and, I believe, a few more coming in the future scenes. Not in this one though."

Alfred looked crestfallen. "Oh."

"Why did you ask?"

"Well," he said with a sigh, "I was just hoping..." He trailed off, seeming to be deep in thought. Then, he shrugged, seeming to have decided on something. "To be honest, I think Romeo and I can wait any longer. Do you think Shakespeare will mind if we cut the balcony scene short?"

She smiled, catching his drift. "No," she shook her head. "I don't think he will."

With a grin, Alfred leaned in closer. She was still smiling like a love struck Juliet when their lips met.

***

From not so far away, two shadowy figures watched the scene.

"And...cut!" one of them said, turning off a video camera.

"Did you get all of that, Elizabeta?" the other asked.

The woman smiled. "Of course I did. Think we can get a good price out of this, Francis?"

"Hm, I believe Anne's siblings will make good buyers. Her queen has expressed a passing interest as well..."

"No kidding?"

"I never kid about these things, _mon cheri_," Francis said with a sly smile.

Anne was right. She was never going to hear the end of this.


	29. The Day the Earth Turned InsideOut 1

_AN: Sorry for the really really long delay. I was writing this for weeks and it became so much longer than I intended it to. It is now a one-shot with 11,000 words. Isn't that great? I split it into three parts just so that everyone wouldn't get tired of reading. They're still pretty long, though._

_I have written a separate last chapter for this whole 'Anne' series, just in case anyone was wondering._

_Most scenes were suggested by the requester, __**seiari. **__Thanks so much for your help with this and sorry for taking so long. ____Thanks so much to __**xalter-egox **_and _**Hitome Cassie**_too, for all the help they've given.

Anyway, here's part one of this fic. Enjoy :)

The fairy Annabelle peeked into England's bedroom, floating in when she found the country reading a book and fully awake.

"Not planning on getting some sleep, Anne?" she asked, settling on England's bedside table.

The country shook her head. "Not yet. It's not often that I get to see him this peaceful."

Not understanding Anne's reply, Annabelle looked more carefully and noticed the familiar figure lying on the bed beside England.

"He watched another horror movie again, huh?" the fairy asked, amused. The fairies knew all about Alfred's strange liking of horror movies and how he usually ended up too afraid to sleep alone after watching the mentioned horror movies.

Anne nodded, closing her book and looking at the fairy.

"Which one?"

"I didn't bother asking," England admitted with a shrug. "Not that it matters anyway. I wonder why he doesn't stop watching those things if they scare him so much."

Annabelle giggled. "As if you don't like it when he comes up here to cuddle with you."

"I don't _cuddle_ with him," she snapped, a blush coming to her cheeks. "He just doesn't want to sleep on his own and I happen to be the only other person in the house. There's nothing else to it."

The fairy didn't reply, knowing she'd just get shouted at if she uttered the teasing remark she had in mind. Anne turned her attention towards the sleeping country beside her, absentmindedly pushing back the hair from his face.

"You miss your little boy, don't you?" Annabelle asked, seeing the longing look on England's face.

"Sometimes," Anne admitted, pulling her hand back and looking at the fairy. "I can never spend time with him like this anymore with how things are now and him being independent and all."

"I don't see what's stopping you. I mean, he comes over here a lot and annoys you. I'm sure you can make space in all that interaction for some sweet bonding moments."

England smiled bitterly. "It isn't that simple, Annabelle. Things are much too different now from how they used to be."

"In what way," the fairy asked, a plan forming in her head.

"Well," Anne said, "for one, he doesn't need me anymore. I'm not the older sister figure he feels the need to please. He's no longer a boy, he's—as much as I don't want to admit it—a man, with completely different priorities from mine. There really are too many differences to mention."

"So..." Annabelle said. "The only _real _problem is actually just age and the dependency issue. I can do something about that."

England suddenly felt a sense of foreboding. "What are you talking about?"

Annabelle took flight, raising herself a few inches from the table. "Well, I'm a fairy, right? And fairies have magic."

Anne suddenly understood where the fairy was going with this. "No! Annabelle, no way! I'm not going to let you."

"England, just trust me, you're going to enjoy spending time with Alfred after this," the fairy promised. "Plus, it'll only last a day so if you _really_ have problems with what I'm going to do with him, I won't renew the spell and he'll be back to normal soon."

She still shook her head vehemently. "This isn't a good idea! You know you aren't supposed to fool around with magic, especially with a being who doesn't acknowledge your existence like Alfred."

"Anne, I'm sorry, but I just can't stand seeing you so sad anymore," the fairy said, paying England no heed. She produced a golden light with her powers. "Now I, Annabelle, with my fairy magic, grant that this person will once again become a child in body and mind. May he be once again dependent on the country with him now."

When the last word left the fairy's lips, the golden ball of light suddenly blasted itself toward Alfred's direction. Anne, having no time to think, instinctively stretched out her arms to block America.

Light filled the room as the spell hit. Unfortunately, it hit the wrong person.

Annabelle couldn't hold in a gasp of shock as she watched England turn into a child before her very eyes. She was going to have a lot to explain to the other fairies when they found out about this mess.

Alfred was having a very freaky dream. It had to be a dream because it was just too weird to be real. A lot of talking, floating lights were involved and so was a little girl sleeping beside him.

One of them, the leader-light as Alfred had mentally nicknamed him, floated forward. "Alfred F. Jones, you may be wondering why our kind has suddenly decided to reveal ourselves to you so—"

"Hey," the nation interrupted, determined to make this dream as interesting. "Are you guys fireflies or something? Not that I have a problem with that, but insects don't usually talk."

"We," the leader-light said, sounding annoyed, "are fairies."

"Psh, yeah right," Alfred replied. "Anyway, what problem do you want the awesome hero to solve for you today?"

"Well," another weird, floaty light said nervously, "it's not like we're expecting you to _solve_ anything. It's just, we thought you might want to know about...the mistake."

"Honestly dude, I have no idea what you're talking about," the nation said with a shrug. He glanced at the little girl beside him. Strangely, she looked very familiar. "Who's she?" he asked, nodding his head toward the child.

"That's what we were about to explain," the leader-light said impatiently. Alfred thought he heard the distinct muttering of words such as 'close-minded' and 'rude' and 'git' from the other lights. The leader silenced them with a gesture and continued. "Your friend, England, has been in a bit of a magical accident."

"Wow," America said, "I've obviously been spending way too much time with her. The fairy crazy has rubbed off of me or something. Then again, this is all a dream..."

The leader-light ignored his last statement completely and went on with the explanation. "Annabelle here," he said, gesturing to the other light which had spoken earlier, "accidentally hit England while trying to cast a spell on her intended target, which would be you, so you better have a sense of gratitude and at least thank England for that later. Now, the spell was meant to turn the recipient into a child. If you could put two and two together, which you obviously can't, you'd realize that—"

"This kid is England?" Alfred interrupted, his disbelief of the fairies temporarily clouded by his shock.

"Well, yes."

"You have got to be kidding me," he said, his voice slightly panicky. "I mean, come on, sure she _looks_ like England but you can't possible have me believe—oh, right. This is a dream, I forgot that for a second."

The lights didn't seem to like the fact that he didn't even _try _to believe any of this. They flew in closer until one of them was practically sitting on his nose.

"Listen, here," the one on this nose yelled, "you go and think whatever you want about how this happened or what's going on but, frankly, you're the only one we can trust her with at the moment. You better take care of her because if we find out that you've neglected Anne to a point wherein she's either dying or dead, we are going to hunt you down and make you regret that you were ever discovered. Is that clear?"

"Alright, alright," Alfred said edging away cautiously. "I'll take care of kid Anne or whoever she is already. This will all be gone in the morning anyway."

"So do we have your word that you'll do everything in your ability to keep her safe and happy?" the leader asked, motioning the other lights to give Alfred some space.

He nodded. "Sure, whatever. I still _am _the hero, even if all of this isn't real."

"Good," the leader said. Then, one by one, the lights started fading away into the darkness until only one remained.

"Uhhhm, hi," the last light said awkwardly.

"Hey," he greeted back. "Aren't you going off like the others?"

"Soon," the light said. "I just—I know you don't think any of this is real but what happened to England is my fault and I can't apologize enough for everything so—"

"Chill," Alfred said, carefree. "No need to be so stressed out. I can handle this, really."

"Oh," the light said, sounding a lot more relieved. "Well, just so you know, the spell was supposed to make you dependent on the country with you at the time it was cast. So, since England was with you she'll probably look at you as her big brother or something."

"Sounds alright with me," he said, still convinced that this would all be over soon enough.

"Also, when I cast the spell I was intending to keep vague memories of your surroundings and your acquaintances intact. It'll probably apply to England as well so she won't panic about where she is when she wakes up. I hope that'll help some."

"All right then," Alfred replied cheerfully. "Thanks for the tips."

"I have to go now," the light said quietly. "You know, maybe you aren't so bad after all."

Before Alfred could reply, the light faded away.

He stared into space for a few more seconds, blinking in disbelief. After a while, he decided that maybe he should let his dream-self get back to bed since it seemed to be the only thing he could do at the moment with his dream-charge still asleep beside him.

He lay back down on the bed and covered himself with the blanket he was sharing with the little girl. She certainly did look a lot like England, at least from what he could observe in the darkness.

Alfred was almost completely asleep again when he felt the child cuddle closer to him. What was left of his consciousness half-wished that all of this was really happening. Having England around as a cute kid was becoming a better prospect with each second.

Alfred tried everything. From the moment he woke up, he had tried slapping, pinching, biting, and, (with the help of the wall) banging himself awake. Despite all of the pain he had caused unto himself, the little girl asleep on the bed was still there.

Unlike his usual dreams, he still had a very clear memory of the one he had last night but there was no way he was going to believe that it had actually happened. Still, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the fact that the little girl on the bed _was not disappearing._

Well, there was only one way of getting anything figured out now. He would have to wake the girl up and ask her straight out whether this was all real or not. Not exactly the most considerate idea but at least it would give him something to go on.

Gently, he placed a hand on the girl's shoulder and shook her. The fact that she was actually solid told him she wasn't a mirage or an illusion, which was actually a good thing cause it told him that he wasn't going mad or anything like that.

The girl's eyes fluttered open. They were a vibrant green, exactly the same shade as England's.

He found it hard to recover from the shock. "Anne?" he said, forgetting the questions he was planning to interrogate her with.

The girl yawned and looked up at him, her big eyes blinking twice. "I'm still sleepy," she said in a soft voice, her lids drooping again.

"Hey," Alfred said, shaking her again. "Wake up, kid."

"I don't wanna," the girl replied, stubbornly keeping her eyes shut tight.

Alfred sighed. Well, she didn't just _look_ like England, she had her unreasonable attitude as well.

"If you want to play it that way," he murmured. He walked over to the curtains and parted them to let the sunlight in.

The girl slowly sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"Glad to see you finally awake," he said, amused at the childish expression of irritation on her face. "Now, I know this is going to sound weird but I need to ask you whether or not this is all real."

"Are we playing a game again?" the child asked, looking at him curiously.

"No...I'm seriously asking you a question." Seeing the puzzled look on her face, Alfred shook his head. "Never mind, just let me get this straight. You're Anne, right?"

"That's what you _named_ me," she answered, still looking at him strangely. "Do you feel alright, Alfwed?"

She looked like England, acted like England, sounded like England and had the same human name as England. Which meant..._no way_.

"Yeah, I'm alright," he whispered before promptly passing out.

Alfred woke up the second time that day. His vision still blurry, the first thing he saw was the vague outline of England's face. For a moment, he thought that everything was finally back to normal.

_Thank goodness, England,_ he thought to himself, _you have no idea how weird my dream was last night. There were talking fireflies who kept saying they were fairies and you had this toddler clone. You'd tell me if you actually had a clone, right? Because that would be so..._

The thought in his head faded away when his vision finally cleared. A little girl with England's face, hair, eyes and everything else was standing over him, looking worried.

"What happened?" he groaned, sitting up. The girl took a few steps back to give him space.

"You fainted," she said, her brows furrowing in concern. "I thought you said you were alright?"

Alfred winced. Fainting sounded so un-heroic. "I didn't faint," he said, trying to stand up, "I...fell asleep. Yeah, that's it. You didn't have to be so worried."

"If you say so," the girl said indulgently. Then, "I wasn't worried. I just thought you were dead or something."

"That sounds like worrying to me," he teased.

The girl scowled. "Is not," she argued, childishly sticking her tongue out.

"Is so," he retorted with equal childishness.

"Nu-uh."

"Uh-huh," he replied, grinning. "And since I'm older, I'm the one who's right."

The child crossed her arms and gave the cutest pout. "Unfair," she said, clearly defeated.

He laughed and stood up. Then, mentally, he gave himself a slap in the face. Here he was having the freakiest morning ever and all he had managed to accomplish was annoy a little girl and win an argument with the 'I'm older than you' routine.

Not exactly the most productive morning.

"So," he said slowly. "All of this really _is _real?"

"Did you hit your head _really_ hard?" the girl asked, sounding completely innocent. Knowing England, though, Alfred was quite sure she was being sardonic...if she really was England and not just some sort of clone-illusion-thing.

Seeing as cloning was illegal and having illusions would be quite un-heroic, he had no choice but to believe that all of this was real...or that he was still be dreaming. Either way, he had a promise to fulfill to some floating lights and a child/dream version of England to take care of. Nothing he couldn't handle, right?

"Okay, since this is happening one way or another, we have a whole day ahead of us to spend together," he said enthusiastically. "Now, what do you want to do first?"

"Can I go back to sleep?" she asked, sounding hopeful.

"Uh...no. How about breakfast?" he asked.

"Alright," the girl said reluctantly, seeing as she had no choice.

"Right, well I'll go check if we actually have anything to eat in your fridge. You can stay here and lie down a bit if you like," he proposed diplomatically.

The girl, or Anne as he now decided to refer to her as, nodded once and he gave her an affectionate pat on the head before leaving.

He quickly ran downstairs and found his way to England's kitchen. There had to be _something _in there that he could feed a small child.

Alfred opened the fridge and found an uneaten half of an apple pie just sitting there, waiting to be eaten. He set in on the table and looked at it carefully. It certainly _looked_ edible. He got out a fork and ate a bite of it.

It tasted pretty good. Probably store-bought seeing as it was in England's fridge.

Feeling accomplished, he brought out two small plates and put a slice of pie on each of them. That was easy enough. Maybe this day was going to turn out perfectly alright after all.

Then, again, Alfred did have the tendency of speaking too soon.

As he searched the fridge for a breakfast beverage, he heard a small scream from somewhere upstairs.

"Anne?" he called, already running out of the kitchen. When he reached the foot of the stairs, he found her sitting on a step close to the top of the flight. He rushed to her and crouched down beside her.

"Hey, what are you doing here, Anne?" he asked worriedly.

She stared at the floor, refusing to look at him. "I was trying to follow you downstairs," she said softly. Then, blushing in embarrassment she added, "I fell."

He looked at her, concerned. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Anne shook her head.

"You're not alright?" he asked, panicking.

"I'm not _hurt_,"she replied, a bit annoyed. Alfred was relieved. Based on his experience with adult-England, sounding irritated usually meant that everything was normal.

He smiled, now focusing his efforts on cheering her up. "I thought you were going to stay in bed for a while?"

"Well, you didn't tell me when you were coming back," she replied accusingly. "You could've left me alone forever," she then murmured, her voice was so soft that he almost didn't hear her.

He wisely decided that it was not the right time to tease her. "Breakfast is ready," he instead said encouragingly. "You like apple pie, right?"

She looked up at him, her eyes wide again. "Pie for breakfast?"

"Why not?" he said, standing up. "Want to eat it now?"

She nodded and held her arms out to him. With the utmost care, he lifted her into his arms and carried her downstairs.

_She's a child now,_ he mentally reminder himself. _She may look capable but she's much too vulnerable for me to forget how much she really needs me. _

By the time they finished breakfast, both of them were completely full, which wasn't surprising since they finished the entire half of the pie that they started off with in the first place. Granted, Alfred did most of the eating but Anne managed to eat a significant amount as well.

"Well, I'm completely full," Alfred said after downing his second glass of orange juice. "What about you?"

In response, Anne let out a tiny burp. "'Scuse me," she said immediately, covering her mouth with her hand.

He chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes. By the way, you have a few crumbs on your face."

"Where?" she asked, trying to rub them off with her hand but missing completely.

"Here," Alfred said, reaching out and doing it for her. "All gone."

"I could've done that myself," she murmured. "I'm not that little."

"Whatever you say," he said, amused.

He cleared the table and put the dirty dishes in the sink, mentally reminding himself to get those washed later.

"So," he said, turning back to her. "What do we do now?"

Like adult-England, kid-Anne seemed to have an interest in reading books. Unlike adult-England, though, Alfred wasn't exactly convinced that kid-Anne knew how to read. Not surprising since she was around four years old at the most but something peculiar to him all the same.

They were both taking a seat on the really soft rug England had in the study, Alfred holding one of England's James Bond novels and Anne holding a picture book they managed to find around the house.

"Need help with that?" he asked, watching her get ready to read.

"No," Anne immediately said before huffily opening her book.

He took a look at the way she looked at her book and laughed. "You do know that you're holding it upside down, right?"

She looked at the book in surprise for a second and turned it right-side up. "You distracted me," she reasoned.

Alfred sighed. "You and your excuses. _Now_, will you let me help you with that book?"

"Maybe just a bit," Anne murmured.

He put down the James Bond novel—it was the one with Russia in the title anyway—and moved so that he was seated beside her. Without any more delay, they opened the book and started reading.

The picture book Anne had was about animals. When Alfred pointed at each animal, Anne would tell him what it was. After this, Alfred would read out the animal facts found in the book.

Alfred was sure that Anne liked animals as well as every other child did, he could see it in the way her gaze never left the pictures of the animals on the page. Her favourite animal, though, was a mystery to him until he reached the last page of the book.

"Hey look," he exclaimed, placing a finger on the animal's picture. "It's a—"

"Bunny rabbit!" Anne interrupted, pointing at it excitedly as well. Her face lit up with a child-like smile for the first time that day.

"You like rabbits, huh?" Alfred asked, interested in this new discovery.

She nodded, still looking at the picture. "I think they're cute...and fluffy."

"Yeah, they're loads of fun to play with too," he said. "If only they weren't so quiet."

Anne turned to look at him. "I _like_ it that they're quiet. It means they're always listening to you. That's why they have those big ears. Sometimes I think they actually understand me when I talk to them," she said thoughtfully.

He looked at her carefully. "You're starting to worry me a bit. I mean, you're way too...serious for your age, you know?"

"I'm just different," Anne argued, closing the book.

"And there's nothing wrong with that," he replied hurriedly. "It's just that you need to wind down a bit. I'm sure there's some whimsy in you somewhere there."

"Whimsy?"

"Well, I was never really good at word choice but, yeah. You need to enjoy yourself a little more, give yourself room to be a little immature."

Anne was silent, taking in what he just said.

"Hey," he said, deciding to bring up something he noticed earlier, "I know this isn't exactly too connected with our conversation right now but..."

"Yeah?"

Alfred gave her a grin. "You exchange the 'r' in my name with a 'w'."

"I do _not_," Anne exclaimed.

"Really? Say 'Alfred', then," he challenged.

She took a deep breath. "Al—Al-fuh-wed," she said slowly. She covered her mouth immediately when she had realized that she had pronounced it wrongly.

Alfred laughed. "Told you so."

Anne turned away, scowling.

"Hey, Annie, don't be mad," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Like I said, you're still a kid. Let yourself _be _one. Honestly, I find it cute when you say it that way."

She turned to him again. "Fine," she said grudgingly.

This was the point Alfred decided to take it upon himself to help kid Anne have some real fun.

"You know what?" Alfred said, idea coming to mind. "I think I have something for us to do next."

Alfred's idea of childish fun turned out to be finger painting on the floor of England's study. He and Anne had managed to find a few tubes of paint, a palette and a couple of aprons to protect their clothes lying around the house.

Like their previous activity, Anne seemed to be taking this one quite seriously as well. At least she seemed a bit looser now.

"I'm finish," Anne announced a few minutes after they had started. Alfred quickly put the last touches to his finger painting and finished it as well.

"Okay," he said looking up at her, "you show your painting."

She shyly handed the painted to him. Alfred looked at the red, white and blue squiggles on the paper.

"Wow, Anne," he said uncertainly. "This is a really nice—what is it exactly?"

"A flag," the girl said simply.

Alfred looked at it again. "Yours or mine?"

She took the painting back and looked at it carefully as well. "I—I'm not sure," Anne said, putting down her painting.

He couldn't hold in a laugh.

"It's not funny," she yelled, sounding slightly hurt.

Alfred forced himself to stop laughing. "I'm sorry, Annie. I _do_ think it's a nice flag. Maybe we should make it the flag of our awesome combined forces."

"If you're so good at painting, show me yours," she said, not comforted by his flag proposal.

"Okay," he said, turning his painting toward her direction. "Ta da."

"Is that you, Alfwed?" she asked, looking at the man in the picture.

"No," he said, a bit disappointed. "That's Superman."

"Oh," she said apologetically. "You don't paint so good too, Alfwed."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "I don't paint good, huh?" he said with mock seriousness. He dipped a finger in the yellow paint and playfully smeared it on Anne's cheek. "There," he said smugly. "Now I think I've made a masterpiece."

Anne looked so serious for a moment that he thought he had made her mad. A second later, though, she was smiling mischievously and bringing her hand, now covered in purple paint, dangerously close to his face.

"Now, Anne," he said, leaning away. "Think about what you're doing. Paint is really hard to clean up, you know. Don't you want to—ah!"

A big area of Alfred's face was now purple.

"Okay, kid," he said, smiling roguishly. "You asked for it." He quickly dipped his fingers into different colors of paint.

The girl, laughing nervously now, stood up and backed away slowly. Alfred stood up as well, preparing to back her into a wall and close in for the messy paint attack. To his surprise, before he could even take a step forward, Anne opened the study door and shot out of the room.

"Hey, wait up!" he called after her. He ran out of the room in time to see her slam a bathroom door closed.

"Open up, Anne!" he said, attempting a stern voice. Some of the paint on his fingers smeared on the door. Another thing he would have to clean up later.

"I need to wash my hands too, you know," he said, trying to get her to let him in.

"Use the other bathroom!" she yelled back.

"No, I wanna use this one!" he replied. "If you don't open up, I'm going to break the door down."

"I'm using the toilet!"

"Oh," he said, suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry about that." He started walking away when he heard snickers from the other side of the bathroom door.

"Wait a minute," he murmured, hurrying back there. "I heard laughing! Anne, you better be really using the toilet or I'll—"

The door opened and Anne came out wearing a small smile. "All done," she said, holding up her clean hands.

After _both_ of them had completely washed themselves of paint, Alfred (always so concerned about food) decided to check the fridge for lunch. While he was doing that, he had forced Anne to sit in front of the television and watch something funny and unserious, namely Spongebob Squarepants.

Finding nothing in the fridge, he disappointedly headed back to the living room.

"How's Bikini Bottom?" he asked Anne, sitting on the couch beside her.

"Insane. But I guess it's _pretty_ funny," she admitted reluctantly. "Did you find anything?"

"No," Alfred answered with a sigh. "Now I have to think of a way to get us some food before we both _starve_."

Alfred was silent for a few minutes, in deep thought. Then, the answer to his problem came to him.

"McDonald's!" he suddenly yelled out.

Anne jumped in surprise. "Huh?"

He just turned off the television and stood up. "Come on, Anne. We have places we need to go."


	30. The Day the Earth Turned InsideOut 2

_AN: Part Two, here. Last part is coming up in the next 12 hours._

_ Introducing, Charlie the unicorn. Trust me, he's going to cause a lot of chaos._

They took a cab to the nearest McDonald's. Alfred liked this particular branch of the fast food chain because it was where he usually escaped to when England was trying to force something home-cooked into him. He and the staff members were practically on first name terms.

Alfred managed to find them a seat before lining up and getting their order.

"The line's a bit long so you save us this table while I go get us lunch. Okay?" he said to Anne, lifting her up to the seat.

She nodded.

"Now, don't talk to strangers, don't go out of the restaurant, and scream if someone tries to kidnap you."

"What?" Anne said, her eyes widening.

He laughed. "Don't worry. I'm just telling you for emergency purposes. Not like I'm actually going to let any of _that_ happen," he said reassuringly. "I'm going to order now so...see you in a bit."

"Alright," Anne said reluctantly.

Alfred left and joined one of the lines to the counter. A few minutes later, someone was tugging on his jacket. He turned around and found Anne there.

"Anne, I thought I told you to save us a seat," he said, surprised to find her there.

"Someone tried to talk to me," she whispered to him. "A _stranger_."

He looked around the restaurant. "Who?" he asked, wondering which suspicious person was bothering her.

"That guy," she said, pointing to the person.

Alfred's gaze followed the direction of her finger. "Anne, you're pointing at a two year-old."

"But he's a _stranger,"_ Anne insisted. "I don't _know_ him."

He sighed. "When I said 'stranger' I meant creepy, too-friendly, older-than-you strangers. Not two year-olds who are trying to make conversation. Now, go back to the seat and..."

He trailed off when he saw their previous seat occupied.

Anne noticed it as well. "Sorry about that," she said apologetically.

"Never mind," Alfred said cheerfully. "You can just line up with me and we'll get a table together later." 

Before Anne could reply, the woman at the counter called them forward to place their order.

"I'll have two double Cheeseburgers, a large Coke, large fries, and a Happy Meal," Alfred said, stating his order quickly. Turning to Anne he asked, "Do you want the Hamburger, the Cheeseburger or the Nuggets?"

"Nuggets," Anne answered immediately. Alfred repeated this to the cashier.

"You really don't want a burger?" he asked her.

She nodded. "Nuggets are easier to finish."

Alfred sighed. Anne was a hopeless case when it came to food.

The cashier called Alfred's attention again, showing him which toys were available to go with the Happy Meal. He glanced toward Anne to get her choice but she was distractedly looking for another empty table. With a sudden burst of thoughtfulness, he decided to surprise her by choosing the toy himself.

Alfred looked at each of the available toys, mentally disregarding the toy cars and robots. When he saw the last Happy Meal toy, he smiled. It was a small plastic unicorn, something Anne was sure to like.

He chose the unicorn and hid it in his jacket pocket. When their order was ready, he took the tray up and looked at Anne. "Did you find a new table?"

"That one," Anne said, pointing at the one still being cleaned. It was the only unoccupied table in the restaurant.

He led the way and they stood beside the table, watching it being cleared and wiped clean. Alfred suddenly recognized the busboy.

"Hey, Sam," he greeted. "Long time no see."

"Alfred, back again?" the busboy, Sam, said, looking up from the now cleaned table.

He laughed. "Yeah. I can never get enough of this place. I mean, come on, it's _McDonald's._"

They shared a laugh.

"Your little sister?" Sam asked, seeing Anne standing beside him.

"Well..." Alfred said reluctantly, glancing at Anne who was waiting for his answer with an interested look. "Not biologically, but she is in every other way," he answered proudly. In the corner of his eye, he saw Anne's mouth turn up in a small smile.

"Nice," Sam said. "Well, have a good time eating, then."

"Yeah, thanks," he replied, watching Sam leave. He put the tray down on the table and sat down. Anne followed suit and hopped on the other seat.

"You're going to finish all of _that_," Anne asked, watching Alfred start on his first Cheeseburger.

"Yup," he replied enthusiastically. "You better get started on your nuggets. I ordered two less burgers than usual so I shouldn't take long."

She looked at him disbelievingly before opening her Happy Meal.

"Oh, before I forget," Alfred said, pulling out the toy unicorn from his pocket and handing it to her. "Here."

Anne looked at the unicorn, not saying a word.

This was a reaction Alfred wasn't prepared for. "If you don't like it," he said quickly, "we could still replace it with another toy."

"No," she said, looking up at him suddenly, "I mean, I don't want to change it."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "You like it?" he asked, sceptical because of her initial reaction.

"Yes," she said softly, looking at the unicorn again. "Thank you."

"No problem," he said, flashing his heroic grin. Watching her look at the unicorn fondly, he took a satisfied bite from his burger.

As predicted, it didn't take them long to finish their lunch. When they were done, Alfred took her to a nearby playground for some fun.

In truth, Anne was not in the mood for active play. All she felt like doing was swing back and forth on the swing set with her toy unicorn, which Alfred found very boring.

"Are you sure you don't want to go on the slides, or use the seesaw?" he asked for the nth time, sitting on the swing beside her in boredom.

Anne shook her head. "My stomach's still full. Charlie says I could get sick if I jump around too much after eating."

"Charlie?"

"The unicorn," she replied, exasperatedly holding up the toy.

"Your unicorn...talks?" he asked sceptically.

She looked at him. "Maybe..."

He decided to drop the subject before he became more concerned about Anne's mental health.

"Hey, look at this cool trick," Alfred said, spinning himself and the swing in circles with his feet. He stopped spinning, lifted his feet from the ground and let the swing's chain unwind itself, taking him spinning along with it.

"Aren't you dizzy?" Anne asked, watching him curiously.

He shook his head. "Nah, it's fun. You try!"

"My feet don't reach the ground," she replied. "Besides, Charlie says that could make me throw up too."

"Well, tell Charlie he's no fun," he said, slowly swinging back and forth again. He was quickly regretting ever getting her that unicorn. "What about just swinging? You can just sit there, and I'll push. Would that be alright with him?"

Anne looked at her toy and back at Alfred. "He doesn't like it...but I don't think I want to listen to him anymore. Swinging sounds fun," she admitted shyly.

Alfred smiled. "Alright then," he said, quickly standing up and positioning himself behind her. "Hold on tight, Annie."

She tightened her grip on the swing's chain and Alfred started pushing.

"Are you doing alright?" Alfred asked, watching her swing higher and higher.

"Yeah," she yelled back, smiling now. Her face looked a lot more relaxed.

Alfred watched her, his thoughts going back to when their positions were reversed. He knew for a fact that no kid, not even Anne, could resist the exciting feeling of flight you get on a swing.

Lost in his thoughts, Alfred didn't see Anne's toy unicorn fall from her hand and hit the ground.

"Charlie!" Anne yelled out, releasing her hold on the chain with one hand to reach for the fallen unicorn. Before Alfred could do anything, she fell from the swing and was sitting on the ground, clutching her knee.

"Anne!" he exclaimed, running around the swing and crouching down in front of her. "Are you okay?"

He tilted the girl's bowed head upwards and saw tears of pain swimming in her eyes. "It hurts," she whispered.

Alfred spotted the cut on her knee. "Just there?" he asked, looking for signs of other injuries.

She nodded.

He tried to recall what England would do in this situation, when it was him falling of swings and wounding his knees. He blew away the dirt around Anne's wound and brought out his handkerchief to make an impromptu bandage.

"Didn't I tell you to hold on to the swing _tightly_?" he asked, imitating one of England's stern reprimands. He wound the handkerchief around her knee and knotted it tightly,

"Sorry," Anne murmured, looking at her newly-bandaged knee. "I had to get Charlie. He fell."

Alfred sighed. That unicorn was causing a lot more trouble that it was worth. "I hope Charlie thanked you for risking your neck trying to rescue him."

She looked up at him guiltily. "He says, 'I told you so'."

"Well, that's just mean."

"He also says you should kiss it better," Anne said softly, referring to the cut on her knee.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "If _Charlie_ thinks I should do that then I should probably listen, huh?"

"You don't _have_ to listen to him," Anne replied quickly. "He's just a silly unicorn."

Alfred didn't pay any attention to what she just said. Instead, he quickly bent down over Anne's knee and kissed it.

"There," he said, smiling at her. "Does that feel better now?"

She nodded. "Thanks," she murmured, her cheeks pink.

His smile widened. Maybe Charlie the unicorn wasn't so bad after all.

They were sitting on a harmless playground bench, arguing (once again) about the existence of actual unicorns, when Alfred spotted a familiar face.

"Hey, is that Sealand over there?" he asked, looking toward the sandbox.

"Where?" Anne asked, looking in that direction as well.

Alfred stood up and walked over to the sand box. Anne hurriedly hopped off the bench and followed him.

Sealand didn't seem to notice their approach. He was making a very impressive sand sculpture while aggressively muttering words Alfred could hear a considerable distance away.

"...keep treating me like a child, babying me all day. Well, I'll show them, I'll show them all..."

"Hey, Sealand!" Alfred greeted.

Sealand looked up at him. "Oh, hey Alfred," he muttered unhappily. "Visiting Jerk-land again?"

"Sort off," he replied. "What's gotten you so down?"

"All you adults, that's what!" the boy said suddenly. "I'm tired of everyone not letting me do things because I'm 'too young' or 'not ready' or whatever."

"I think everyone has gone through that at least once," Alfred said comfortingly. "So what are you building?"

Peter cleared his throat and held up his hands as if to present his unfinished creation. "Fort Sealand! The impenetrable fortress all of you will bow to one day."

"Doesn't it look a bit small?" Anne asked, still standing behind Alfred.

"Well, it's just a sand model so...wait a minute," Sealand said, peering at her closely. He looked up at Alfred. "Who's she?"

Alfred struggled to answer. He didn't think it would be in Anne's best interest if Sealand suddenly decided to exact vengeance on her adult self while she was vulnerable. "Er, this is my friend's sister's kid Ann—I mean, Annie. I'm taking care of her for the day."

Sealand rubbed his chin suspiciously, probably imitating some TV detective. "Are you sure?"

Alfred looked him in the eye nervously. "Uhhh, yes. Yes I am."

Peter looked at him a little longer before shrugging. "That's cool."

He hoped that Sealand didn't hear him give a sigh of relief.

"Hey, Annie!" Peter called, looking at Anne. "Want to help me make my fort? I'd ask Alfred but adults aren't allowed to know the secrets of Fort Sealand. Plus, he's no good at keeping secrets from 'the Jerk'."

"I can _so_ keep a secret from England," Alfred muttered grudgingly. Sealand and Anne ignored him.

Anne nodded, stepping into the sandbox. "Okay. How can I help?"

"Well," Sealand said. "I've gotten the basic building down, but I feel like something's missing. Think you can help me figure out what it is?"

"Sure."

Alfred started feeling a bit left out. Having nothing to do, he let his eye wander and he spotted an ice cream stand not so far away.

"You guys want ice cream?" Alfred asked the busy pair. "I'm buying."

"Chocolate," Sealand said instantly.

"Vanilla, please," Anne said, busy examining Sealand's sandfort.

He sighed. "You're welcome," he muttered sarcastically.

As he turned to walk to the ice cream stand, he spotted Charlie standing outside the sand structure. He glared at the toy unicorn.

Anne was paying more attention to the unicorn that she was to him.

"I think it needs a moat," Sealand said, thinking aloud. "Would that work?"

Anne looked at him, confused. "I thought you said that your country was already in the middle of the _ocean_."

"Well, I can never be too careful. Jerk-land's boats and ships can get to me using the ocean."

"Maybe you need guns and stuff," she suggested, repositioning Charlie outside the fort. "You can shoot the ships."

Peter thought for a moment. "That's...a pretty good idea. For a _girl_ anyway."

Anne scowled.

"I'm going to get some rocks for the fort's ammo," Sealand said, paying no attention to his companion's upset expression. He found some small pebbles on the grass just outside the sandbox and placed them in a pile behind the building.

Anne looked unconvinced. "If you're going shoot ships, you need something _bigger_." She stepped out of the sandbox and went to look for a bigger rock.

While she was gone, Sealand moved Charlie the unicorn farther away from the fort entrance. No girly unicorn was going to be seen at Fort Sealand!

When she came back, Anne was holding a rock that was the size of her hand and half the size of the fort. If it somehow managed to fall on the sand-structure, Fort Sealand—Peter's hard work for the _whole_ afternoon—wasn't going to stand a chance.

Immediately, Sealand started panicking. "Wh-What are you going to do with that rock?"

"I'm going to put it at the back with rest," Anne said calmly. She stepped into the sand box and walked toward the fort.

"Wait, wait, wait, stop!" Peter yelled. He couldn't risk the safety of his fort by relying on a little girl.

She stopped, her hand with the rock just hovering over the fort. "What's wrong?"

"Give me the giant rock."

Reluctantly, Anne complied.

Feeling relieved, Sealand carefully approached the fort to place the rock in a safe place behind his sand building. In his preoccupation, he didn't notice Charlie the unicorn in his path. He yelped in pain when he stepped on the plastic unicorn's horn. The rock went flying out of his hand.

It hit Fort Sealand right at the center.

"Oh dear," Anne exclaimed. The sand-building was now a pile of sand.

"Hey gang," Alfred said, returning with three ice cream cones. "I got your ice—woah, what happened to your fort?"

"Er," Anne said, not exactly eager to explain what had really happened. "He decided to turn it into a mountain."

Sealand was too shocked to say anything coherent. He was now stuttering in grief, his eyes fixed on his ruined fort.

Anne took both their ice creams, said thanks to Alfred, and gave the chocolate cone to Peter. He wordlessly took the ice cream, paying no attention to it whatsoever.

"Wow, it sure looks a lot less cool now," Alfred mused aloud. "But if that's what you guys decided on..."

Sealand was still frozen on the spot, unresponsive to anything else.

Anne cautiously picked up her toy unicorn from beside Sealand. "I think we should go, Alfwed," she said softly, looking worriedly at Peter.

"Maybe you're right," he replied. "We should leave Sealand to bask in the awesome of his mountain." He helped her out of the sandbox.

"Bye Sealand, see you again sometime," Alfred said, waving goodbye.

Peter was too caught up with his ruined fort to wave back.

Not sure what to do next, Alfred took Anne strolling around the shops of London. It was fun as first but everything went downhill when Alfred tried to get Anne to leave the pet store.

She didn't really take that nicely.

"Annie, we've been here for an _hour_. Can we go now?" Alfred asked for the tenth time in five minutes.

She looked away from the brown rabbit in her arms and glared at him. "No!" she snapped, annoyed at his persistent asking. "I don't want to go! Bunny and I are still playing."

"You can play with Charlie or something!"

"Charlie doesn't want to leave either!" Anne replied, her voice growing louder with each word. The other store-goers looked their way curiously, wondering if this was the start of a tantrum.

Alfred sighed. "Look, you can come back here and play with Bunny some other day, alright?"

"But—"

He quickly took the rabbit from her hands, ignoring her protests. He placed it back in its enclosure. Before she could react, she pulled her by the hand and led her out of the store.

Anne snatched her hand back from him and crossed her arms. "I'm _not_ speaking to you."

He decided that it was not a good time to point out that she just did. "Aww. Annie don't be like that," he said. "It's not like I want to make you unhappy. But one hour in the pet store is just too much."

Anne refused to reply.

"Fine," Alfred said grudgingly. "If that's how you want it to be then I'm not speaking to you either. We'll just stand here until you apologize."

"Fine!" Anne yelled, turning away from him.

A few minutes later, they were still standing there. He was starting to worry that they'd never leave that spot. Still, he wasn't going to give in. If she was going to be unreasonable then he had the right to be just as stubborn.

But their battle of wills was then interrupted by a familiar voice.

"_Amérique?" _

He turned to look for the speaker. "France?" he said nervously, seeing the other country approach them. Instinctively, he stepped to the side to hide Anne from view. "What are you doing here?"

France reached them, his mouth turned up in a mischievous smile. "I should ask you the same question,_ mon cheri_," he said. "Visiting dear _Angleterre_, I suppose?"

"Er, yeah," Alfred said awkwardly, trying to get rid of the Frenchman quickly.

France raised an eyebrow. "Did you just admit that you find Annedear to you?"

"No," Alfred denied immediately, then remembering Anne behind him he quickly said, "I mean, yes! I mean—"

"Ah, ah," France said interrupting him. "Say no more. I should've gotten a video of that. Anyway, what are you doing in this part of _Londres?_"

"Nothing," he answered too quickly.

"Nothing is always something, _Amérique," _France said. "Now, spit it out and don't try to lie to big brother France."

"Er, I was..." he trailed off, noticing Anne peeking at France from behind him. He tried to block her from view again but it was too late.

"Who's that?" France asked.

"She's my friend's cousin's sister's—"

"Why, is that you, _Angleterre_?" Francis asked, looking more amused than surprised.

"France, it's not what you think," Alfred said quickly. "This isn't—"

"Oh, _Angleterre! Comment avez-vous jamais revenir à votre mignon petit lapin de soi?" _France said, ignoring him completely.

Anne stepped forward a bit nervously. "I—I don't really understand French."

"How did you turn back into your cute younger self?" Francis rephrased in English.

She looked confused. "I—"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Alfred interrupted hurriedly. "I don't know what crazy nonsense you believe but if you're trying to tell me that you think she's England then—"

"Tsk, tsk," France said, cutting across him. "I told you not to lie to me,_ Amérique._ I don't know what _you_ believe but I happen to know about all that magical business _Angleterre_ gets herself into. Obviously, there's been something of that sort going on here."

"Here's this magical business again," he groaned, only half sarcastic.

"Well, if she isn't _Angleterre_ then who is she?" France challenged. "And don't start with that "friend's sister's" routine you were going on about earlier.

"Er...well, uhhhm..." Alfred started off, not eager to confirm that he too believed that the girl was England.

Francis saw this apprehension and decided to use it to his advantage. "What name have you been calling her the whole day? Where did you find her?" Francis asked, aiming to overwhelm the American with his questions. "What have you—?

"Alright, alright!" Alfred yelled. "Her name's Anne. I found her in England's bed. I've been taking care of her all day and a bunch of floating lights told me this was all their fault!"

France raised his eyebrows. "So you _do_ have some vague idea of what's going on here. Well, now that we've settled that, we must move on to the next immediate issue."

"You mean turning Anne back to normal?"

"No," France replied. "I mean the horrendous state of this girl's clothing."

Alfred's eyes widened. "I tell you that a bunch of floating lights turned England into a kid and the only thing you can think about is the state of her _clothing?_"

"Why yes, that pretty much sums it up. Honestly, look at the state it's in, _Amérique._ To me, it looks like she's wearing a sack."

"It's not that bad!" Anne wailed before Alfred could reply.

"Yeah," Alfred agreed. "But she actually came in that outfit so don't blame me about it."

Anne glared at him. "I'm still not speaking to you."

He looked at her, shocked. "What did I do now? If this is still about the pet store, then you're being completely unreasonable."

France watched them arguing, amused. "Well, at least some things are still normal," he muttered to himself.


	31. The Day the Earth Turned InsideOut 3

_AN: Last part of this 'one-shot'. Last chapter of the Anne Kirkland Series will be posted sometime soon. _

_Thanks to all those who have read, commented and supported me throughout this fic :)_

_Anyway, on with the story._

In thirty minutes time, France managed to drag both of them to a children's clothing store. All the while, Anne refused to speak to Alfred. Alfred, not happy about the fact that she was still angry with him, didn't even try to save her from the fashion flurry of France. Quite un-heroic but Alfred's feelings were hurt, which was a good enough excuse for him.

Besides, it's not like Anne was in any real danger.

"You should try on this one," France said, taking a girls dress from the clothing rack and throwing it at Anne's direction. "And this one, and this one. Oh, and you'll look adorable in this one _ma_ _chère_¸ I just know it."

Soon Anne was lost in a pile of clothes.

Alfred watched worriedly from afar. Maybe Anne _was_ in need some help.

"Not until she asks for it," Alfred muttered to himself. Then he looked at the toy unicorn he held in his hand and glared at it. France had shoved it into his hand when he whisked Anne away to the clothes racks.

"What are you looking at?" he asked the unicorn threateningly.

The unicorn just kept staring at him.

Alfred's face softened. "She left you too, huh?" he asked sympathetically. "Well that makes the two of us."

The unicorn, of course, didn't reply.

He looked at the two, now being helped by various store employees in bringing France's many clothing choices to the fitting rooms.

"She's with France now, so don't expect her to come back to us," he muttered angrily.

The unicorn was still silent.

Alfred looked at it. "You don't talk much do you?"

No reply.

He sighed. "Yeah, I thought so. You're just a plastic unicorn."

Silence.

"Unless..." Alfred thought aloud, "you're mad at me too, aren't you? Anne probably told you not to talk to me. Well, two can play at that game. I'm not talking to you either. And stop staring at me like that!"

One of the employees looked at him curiously and he flushed red, embarrassed. He mercilessly stuffed the unicorn in his pocket and refrained from talking to himself.

He was watching the two again. Apparently, France was having trouble convincing Anne to go into the changing room. Who could blame her? Even kids would be able to feel the aura of...France-ness that surrounded Francis.

Alfred turned his head away indifferently. _She could save herself,_ he thought grudgingly.

Then again...

He looked back at them and met Anne's distressed gaze. She was looking at him pleadingly. Alfred shrugged as if to tell her, _What am I supposed to do about it?_

Anne looked even more desperate, her expression as if she was going to burst into tears at any second.

His resolve crumbled like dust.

"_Ma chaton,_" he heard France say, taking Anne by the shoulder and leading her into the fitting room, "you've done enough dallying. We _must_ try on all these adorable dresses soon or you'll be stuck wearing that unbearably unstylish sack all day."

"Francis!" Alfred called out before the other could completely close the fitting room door. "Wait a minute!"

France opened the door with an exasperated sigh. "What is it _now_? With all this interrupting going on I get the feeling that both of you have something against being well-dressed."

"Er, well..." he replied, "I just thought you should know about this really hot girl that just passed by the shop window."

Francis looked at him disinterestedly. "And how would this girl be any different from the ones I see in France?"

Alfred thought for a moment. "She had an equally cute sister."

France raised an eyebrow. "And?"

He pretended to look interested in these imaginary girls. "They were both _tens_."

The Frenchman's face perked up. "Tens you say? On whose standards."

"Dude, I don't need anyone's standards," Alfred replied, grinning wildly. "They were that hot."

"Hm," France said aloud in though, "perhaps this _is_ worth a look." To Anne he said, "You stay here, _ma chère._ I will just see what _Amérique _is so worked up about."

"You go do that," Alfred said encouragingly, watching France exit the store.

As soon as he was gone, Alfred rushed to Anne's side. "Come on. We have to leave before he comes back."

"But the dresses—"

"Just pick one and let's go!" Alfred said hurriedly.

Anne grabbed a yellow every-day dress and they rushed to the counter.

Alfred gave the cashier a ten-pound note and let them keep the change in return for messing up the store with all of France's clothing choices.

Without any delay, they rushed out of the store and ran the opposite direction France went. As they turned a corner, Alfred spotted France talking to a pair of good-looking girls.

He chuckled. Was it called lying if your lie turned out to be the truth?

They walked around the streets of London a bit more, trying to create distance between them and France. Alfred, already having forgotten about his spat with Anne, was cheerfully blabbing on about having a movie marathon for the rest of the evening. Anne, though, was still quite uneasy.

It took Alfred a while to realize this, but when he did he was deeply concerned. "Hey, what's wrong Annie?"

"Nothing," she mumbled unconvincingly.

"If you're still mad at me about the pet store..." he started off, looking at her.

"I'm not."

Not hearing him, he went on with his sentence. "...then I'm sorry I didn't let you play longer with—what did you just say?"

She looked up at him. "I'm not mad at you. I just..."

"Yeah?"

Anne took a deep breath, preparing to say her next sentence in the fastest speed possible. "I just want to say thank you for saving me from France and I'm really, really, really sorry for being mean to you and—"

"Hey," Alfred said, giving her a big grin. "It's no big deal. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. It was really mean of me not to save you from France the minute he pulled you into that store. And I really should've given you a minute more or two to play with Bunny."

"But—"

"I keep forgetting that you're a kid, you know? I guess I took everything too personally and got mad at you for getting mad at me. But that's all over now, and we can forget about it and just move on. Is that okay with you?"

No reply.

"Anne?"

She nodded reluctantly. "Alright."

Alfred smiled and took her hand. They walked together like that for another minute, until he remembered the toy unicorn. He stopped suddenly and rummaged for it in his pocket.

She looked up at him confused. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head. "I'm just getting...wait a second. Ah," he said triumphantly, taking the unicorn out from his pocket, "here he is."

"Charlie!" Anne yelled out, reaching for it.

Alfred chuckled and handed Charlie to her. "You really love that thing, huh?"

She nodded. "Cause you gave it to me," she murmured, so softly that he almost didn't hear.

He smiled.

"Alfwed?" Anne said suddenly.

"Yeah?"

She was blushing for some reason. "Charlie says he wants to whisper something to you."

"Oh, tell him to go ahead and say it."

Anne shook her head. "He wants you to crouch down here so you can hear him."

Alfred shrugged. "Alright," he said, crouching down to humour her.

He was pleasantly surprised when, instead of a unicorn whispering to his ear, he got a kiss on the cheek from Anne.

"What was that for?" he asked, smiling wide.

"Nothing," she said softly, her cheeks flaming. "Charlie told me to do it," she then added accusingly.

Alfred laughed. "You know, I never thought I would ever say this but, I'm really starting to like Charlie."

Anne mumbled something about a stupid unicorn as they entered the video rental store.

An hour later, they were in England's home, watching the third and last Shrek film they had rented in the video store. Two boxes of pizza (mostly finished off by Alfred) lay forgotten at the table as the two bounced on their seats in excitement as the film reached its climax, spilling the popcorn in their bowls out onto the sofa.

"No! Not Artie!" Anne yelled out.

"Chill, Annie. A main character can't die, that'll end the show." Despite his comforting words, he looked on edge as well. "But then again, it is nearly the end of the movie so..."

Anne screamed and covered her eyes. "He killed him! Prince Charming killed him!"

Alfred looked at the screen. "Nah, he killed Shrek."

"What?" she shrieked, peeking through her hands and looking at the screen.

. He laughed. "Don't worry! I already watched this. Shrek just clipped the sword under his arm. No one's dead...yet. Prince Charming's gonna die in a bit."

Anne glared and slapped his shoulder. "You spoilt the ending!"

"Well you were _asking_ for it," Alfred retorted.

"No I wasn't."

"Yes you were."

They then started a popcorn fight which continued until the very near end of the movie.

"Hey look," Alfred said, putting down his bowl of popcorn, "ogre babies."

Anne looked at the screen. "They're green," she said in a tone of slight disgust.

"They're _ogres_," he pointed out.

"There are _three_ of them."

"They're _triplets_, okay? And you have to admit, they are kind of cute."

"No they—" her sentence was cut off as she yawned, "—aren't."

"Aww," Alfred said dotingly. "Looks like someone is sleepy."

"Am not," Anne said. A second later another yawn betrayed her. "I'm just—" Yawn. "—tired of sitting."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Well, I guess you and Charlie should go to bed."

"But—"

"Come on," he said, standing up and turning off the television. "Time for bed."

"Can I at least put my new dress on first?" she asked. "I've been wearing the same thing all day. And Francis says this one looks like a sack."

He lifted her up in his arms. "I thought you knew better than to listen to France."

"But he's right," she replied grudgingly, "at least this time."

He laughed as he carried her up the stairs and into her bedroom.

Wearing her new dress, Anne climbed into her too-big bed. Alfred helped her with the sheets and watched her get settled.

"Goodnight then, Annie," he said with a smile, shutting off the light.

"Wait!"

He turned the light on again. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Anne was looking at him expectantly. "Aren't you going to sleep here too?"

"I'm sleeping in the guest room. I thought you and Charlie would want this room all to yourselves. Unless you want me to—"

"No, no, it's all right," Anne said hurriedly, "we'll be fine here."

"You sure?"

She nodded vigorously.

"Okay then," he said, turning the lights off again. "Goodnight."

"'Night, Alfwed," she murmured back.

A few minutes later, Alfred heard a knock on his bedroom door.

He opened it. "Anne?"

The little girl looked up at him. "Charlie and I couldn't sleep. Can we stay in here for a while?"

"Sure," he replied, stepping aside to let her in.

She came in and sat on the bed. "Were you going to sleep already?"

"Nah," he said, sitting beside her, "I was thinking of cleaning up the mess downstairs but that can wait. Anything I can do to help get you to sleep?"

"A story?" she suggested.

"Okay then," Alfred readily agreed. "Which superhero do you want it to be about?"

"Don't you know any other kind of stories?" she asked.

"Fine," he said grudgingly, trying to think of a good fairytale. "Ever heard the one about the Frog Prince?"

Anne shook her head.

"You and Charlie lie down and I'll start the story," he said.

She crawled under the blankets and put her head on the pillow.

Then, from memory, Alfred started telling the story. "Once upon a time, in a kingdom that doesn't actually exist, lived a really rich princess who liked playing with golden balls. One day, she was playing with one near a well..."

Already, Anne's eyelids were drooping. Alfred continued the story, toning down his voice so that she would fall asleep.

"...and the prince and the princess fell in love and got married. They had eleven children and lived happily ever after. The end."

He looked at her. "Anne?"

She didn't reply. Her closed eyes and deep breaths told him that she was asleep.

"Aww," he murmured, "all tuckered out, aren't you?" He took the plastic unicorn from her hand and put in on the side table.

"Sweet dreams, Annie," he whispered under his breath, fondly kissing her on the forehead. Then, yawning, he lay down on the other side of the bed and looked at the ceiling.

He thought about all the fun things he and Anne would do tomorrow. Maybe, after cleaning up that mess downstairs they could go out again, or maybe he would let her visit the pet store one more time. He smiled, thinking of the unlimited prospects. Having little Anne around for a while didn't seem like such a bad thing anymore.

And with that thought, he too fell asleep.

He felt someone shaking him awake. "Wake up sleepy head," a voice said.

"Later," he whined, not even bothering to open his eyes. He waved the voice away with his hand. He hit something

"Ow!" the voice exclaimed. "Alfred, you git, wake up!"

Alfred rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. "Okay, Annie, I'm up."

An irritated sigh. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? Then again, I do owe you something for yesterday."

Something finally clicked in Alfred's brain. He opened his eyes fully and looked for the source of the voice. "England?" he asked, finding Anne's fully-grown self sitting on the bed.

"The one and only," she said with a smile. "And, yes, Alfred, I'm back to normal."

"Wow," he said, speechless. "You're—you're _you_ again. Wow," he said again, cut between relief and shock. "Since when...?"

"While we were asleep," she replied, amused at his reaction. "I just woke up myself."

"This is...this is great!" he said half-heartedly.

She raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound like you mean it."

"Of course I do. It's just," he said, reluctantly, "I'm going to miss her."

England laughed. "Git, I'm right here."

He smiled sadly. "But it's different...she was so much _cuter_," he joked.

"Idiot!" she yelled, punching his shoulder.

Alfred rubbed the spot where he had been hit. "Ouch! She doesn't hit so hard either! But I'm really glad you're back England," he said, grinning again.

She smiled back at him. "I'm sort off glad to be back as well. At least I'm no longer a vulnerable little girl who needs someone else to get rid of _France_ for her."

"So..." he said. "I'm taking it you remembered everything that happened yesterday."

Anne groaned. "Yes, I do and may I just say that I never felt as embarrassed with myself before as I do now."

"Why?" he teased. "For needing help to go down the stairs? For being a cute little girl who talks to unicorns all day? For—"

"Shut up, I get the idea," she snapped. "Actually, what's really humiliating is the fact that I had to get taken care of you for the whole day. I have to have a _very _harsh word with the fairies about how they use their magic after this."

"Ha!" Alfred scoffed. "Fairies."

"You're telling me that even after all of this nonsense, you still don't believe in fairies?"

"Of course I don't," he replied teasingly. "I may have developed a liking for unicorns named Charlie, though."

"Incorrigible prat," England murmured. She took Charlie from the nightstand and fingered the toy lightly. After a few moments, she handed it to him. "Well, I guess after all that, I'm not really in the position to insult you, huh?"

"Nope," Alfred said proudly. "I expect a thorough display of gratitude for the whole day and absolute servitude for the next forty-eight hours. Also, we're going out to McDonald's for—"

He was interrupted by Anne leaning forward and quickly kissing him on the cheek. When she leant back, her cheeks were pink with embarrassment.

"I know this question is starting to get old, but what was that—?"

"It was to shut you up," England said, standing up with a small smile on her face. "It also may or may not be me thanking you for taking such good care of me yesterday. Seeing as I'm not dead or dying, I'll have to admit that you make a passable caretaker."

Alfred smirked. "So does this mean that I get those forty-eight hours of servitude?

Anne looked for a second as if she was seriously considering this. "You get McDonald's for lunch, nothing else." She walked towards the door and turned the knob.

"But that's totally un—"

"Alfred," she interrupted, already half-way out the door, "don't push your luck."

A few seconds later, she heard her descending the stairs.

With a chuckle, Alfred crashed his head back onto the pillow of his bed. He looked at the unicorn in his hand and smiled again. Even if Anne was back to normal, it didn't mean that his little Annie was _completely _gone. She was hiding now, sure, but she was still there, under that really cold English exterior...probably.

Maybe England would loosen up now that he knew about her vulnerable side.

Despite all these happy realizations, though, Alfred couldn't help feel like he'd forgotten something. Something about popcorn in the living room.

Soon, a shout from downstairs confirmed his fears.

"Alfred F. Jones! What is this mess doing in my living room?"

He swallowed hard.

It was going to be another long and equally chaotic day.


	32. How Long Goodbyes Really Last

**AN: **_After writing this, I realized that this could be hard to understand without a little background storytelling. I blame the flashbacks. _

_ Okay, so the background of this story is sort of an 'end-of-the-world' thing. I didn't put emphasis on that though. Just in case anyone wonders later on..._

_ Let's pretend the 'end-of-the-world' thing is some sort of environmental problem just so we all get the mental idea. I personally thought about all the ice caps melting and flooding places when I wrote this. _

_ Anyway, this is the last chapter of this fic. Sad as I am that it's over, I'm very happy for all the support you readers have given me. This fic couldn't have been possible without all of you._

_ So, without ado, the final chapter._

_ Thanks and enjoy! -Mira_

_Ps. Established relationship in this chapter _

Whenever Alfred thought of her, he forgot how to feel. It was as if everything inside of him instantly went hollow at the mention of her name, his heart nothing but an irritating beat pulsing inside of him. Nothing meant anything to him anymore.

Each day was nothing but a meaningless routine, each conversation nothing but unbearable babble, each face nothing but a shadow. Everything felt empty and he didn't know whether or not to be thankful that it didn't hurt so much anymore.

At least with the numbness, he no longer broke down each night thinking about her, or woke in the middle of the night crying out her name. But without the pain, he found it harder to recall the scent of her hair or the rare smile on her face. As if she was in a hurry to fade away.

He knew he needed to hold on to the memories, they were all that he had left.

It was becoming harder and harder for him to remember the happy times they shared. Once and a while, he would go to bed trying to bring back the sound of her voice, the feel of her touch on his skin, and he would fall asleep carrying her into his dreams.

Only in his unconsciousness did the memories resurface effortlessly.

_ They were lying side-by-side on an old picnic mat, staring at the cloudless night sky. A few meters away, their telescopes they had used a few minutes ago stood abandoned. There was just something too magical about that night to waste looking through some lens. _

_ "I'm really glad we get to do these kind of things, Annie." He kissed the top of her head, cradled on his arm. "I mean, how many couples get to cuddle under the stars like this?" _

_ She gave a soft chuckle, a sound that never failed to make him feel warm inside. "Not many, apparently," she replied, "unless of course, they're from one of those TV dramas of yours."_

_ He snickered. "I happen to know that you _like_ my TV dramas. You were watching one of them last night, weren't you? I think it was the one about—"_

_ "Oh shut up," she said, smacking his shoulder lightly. She cut off his triumphant laughter with a soft kiss to his lips. _

_ "M'kay," he agreed cheerfully when their lips parted, satisfied with his payoff. _

_ She snuggled deeper into his chest. He brought his other hand over to stroke her hair. They were quiet for a few minutes, just enjoying the each other's company. _

_ "How long do you think we'll be like this?" she asked, looking up at him, breaking the silence. _

_ "Well, we can sleep out here, if you like," he replied._

_ She lightly hit his shoulder again. "Not on the mat, you git," she said, failing to sound annoyed. "You know, like _this._ Always spending time together, so connected, so...happy."_

_ "Oh," he said. "_Oh. _Forever, I guess," he answered easily, as if it was the only future they possibly deserved. _

_ She sighed. "Now, Alfred, that's just being unrealistic." _

_ He frowned. "What do you mean unrealistic? If this about me leaving you, you already know that I won't do that again."_

_ "I wasn't talking about _that_," she replied, struggling to explain. "It's just that, I don't think even _our_ kind can last forever."_

_ His frown was replaced by a relieved smile. "Of course we can. We're countries. We're awesome like that." _

_ "Countries can't last forever either," she pointed out._

_ "What, you mean like the end of the world?" _

_ She nodded. _

_ "Oh, Anne," he said, chuckling. "There you go being Miss Negativity again. That won't happen 'til, like, forever." _

_ "You never know," she said simply. "With everything going on these days, no one can really tell what will happen. Things aren't always as permanent as they seem." _

_ "If you say so," he said, shrugging it off. "But I still think _we'll_ be together like this for all eternity." _

_ "I hope so," she replied wistfully, burying her face in his chest again. "I really hope so." _

_ He was about to start playing with her hair again when she suddenly looked back up at him again._

_ "And another thing," she said, a mischievous smile on her lips, "if ever one of us does leave, it'll be me going away this time. I think it's only fair." _

_ He gave a nervous laugh. "Don't say things like that, Annie," he said, planting a kiss on her forehead and then on her lips. He knew she was only joking but for some reason, dread filled him all the same. _

Whenever this memory resurfaced, he couldn't help but think about the unfair irony of it all, because in the end, she really did leave him but not in the way either of them had expected.

In the early days of his grief, he had always found himself looking for someone to blame for anything and everything that had to do with losing Anne. In hindsight, he knew this was probably because he knew that the only one to blame for everything was himself.

_ They were leaving the building that had just served as a world meeting venue a few minutes ago. Things weren't going so well and the countries had met to discuss contingency plans, just in case their problem got out of hand. Not every country, though, believed that this problem wasn't really too big of a deal. He was one of those counties. _

_ "Alfred, when are you going to start taking_ _this problem seriously?" she asked, keeping pace with him as they walked to the parking lot. _

_ He looked at her, flashing his trademark grin. "Who says I'm not taking it seriously?" _

_ "No one has to say so, it's as obvious as day." Her voice was quiet instead having of its expected sternness. "You haven't even started taking concrete action yet." _

_ "Oh, I will soon," Alfred replied, carefree. "Relax, Annie. I don't see why you and all the others are so panicky. I think you guys are starting to overreact." _

_ "We're not overreacting. We just grasp how extreme this problem is," she said softly, "and how inevitable it really is that at least one of us is never going to recover."  
He suddenly noticed that she sounded more than slightly upset._

_ He stopped walking. She followed suit._

"_Annie, is something wrong?" he asked, facing her. _

_She didn't meet his gaze. He caressed her cheek and she looked up at him. He could see unshed tears forming at the corners of her eyes. _

_He had a distinct feeling that there was something he didn't know. "Anne, what—?"_

"_Don't you care about me anymore, Alfred?" she asked, cutting across him. _

"_What?" he asked, appalled. "Of course I do. Anne, I love you. How could you even ask that?" _

_He put his arms around her and held her close, gently rubbing circles on her back. She just shook her head, trying to wipe away the tears that were already falling between them. _

It wasn't until it was too late that he understood her question.

One of the happy memories he most often remembered was one of the last days they had spent together. He had taken advantage of it, just like he always took advantage of every 'I love you', every kiss, every hug, every show of affection.

Then again, if he hadn't been so stupid in the first place, maybe he would've managed to fix things before they had gotten that far.

_They were spending a weekend at her house in London. It took him a while to notice but something about her felt a lot more urgent, sadder than usual. _

_It started when they had just finished watching a good show on television and she unexplainably switched it off. _

"_Hey," he said, hand reaching to grab the remote, "your favourite show is coming up next. Don't you want to watch?" _

_She shook her head. "No, not now." She put the remote down on the side table beside her, out of his reach. _

"_Okay," he said with a shrug, "what do you want to do, then?" _

_She didn't answer. Before he could react, she leant forward and started kissing him passionately. Despite being surprised, he enthusiastically kissed back. She pulled away abruptly few seconds later, her face grieved. _

"_Anne, what's going—?"_

_ She silenced him with a finger to his lips. "Hush, Alfred," she said softly, caressing his cheek. "I don't want to waste another second of this day." _

_ Her lips pressed against his again and settled her head on his shoulder. "I love you," he heard her murmur into his ear. "I love you so much." _

_ "I love you too, Annie," he replied, his voice clouded by confusion. "You know I love you." _

_ She lifted her head from his shoulder and leant back so that they were looking at each other again. She brought a finger to his face and traced around his eyes, his nose, his lips. _

_ "Promise," she said, her voice shaking, "promise me you'll remember." _

_ "Anne, what—?" _

_ "Just, _promise_," she begged, her eyes shining with tears._

_ "I promise," he said solemnly, not exactly sure what he was promising her._

You never really know how much you'llmiss something until it's gone. And when you finally realize, it's usually too late.

Even if you don't notice it, the last words a significant person in your life will say to you will stay with you forever. Whether it would be a nagging reminder or a cut off sentence, those words will always find the opportunity to come back to you and force you to remember. Some people are lucky enough to get a proper goodbye.

Most people who get these rare chances at a farewell usually end up feeling much worse. It's almost impossible to really value a goodbye when you still can't believe you're never going to see the person you love smile again.

_The caller-ID told him in advance that she would be the one calling. Still, he found himself surprised to hear the sound of her voice._

"_Alfred?" Her voice was cracking. If he knew better, he would say she was in tears._

"_Hi, Annie," he greeted. "Reception must be bad, you sound a bit different."_

"_I know," she replied. After a pause, "I'm sorry." _

"_Hey, no big deal." Only after he said this did he realize that she could be apologizing for something else. "Is something happening over there?"_

"_No, Alfred. Everything...everything is fine," she said. _

_He wasn't so sure anymore that it was the phone reception that was all wrong. _

"_So, why did you call?" he asked, not really sure what else to say._

_There was silence on the other line. _

_He started panicking. "Hello? Anne?" _

_ "I just wanted to hear your voice," she said, her voice barely a whisper. _

_ "Anne," he said firmly. "I know something's wrong, tell me. _Please._" _

_ There was another long moment of silence. _

_ "Anne!" he called again, wondering how fast he could get a plane to England and check on her. _

_ He heard her heavy breathing on the other side of the line. "I didn't want you to know, I didn't want you to worry." _

_ "Annie, I'm going to come over there, just hang on and—"_

_ "No!" she said firmly, cutting off him. "It's too late, Alfred. _Too late_."_

_His heart was slowly grasping what was happening even if his mind couldn't. _

_ "Anne, what's going on?" he yelled, so close to breaking down in his own confusion, his own helplessness. _

_ "Alfred," she said, her voice shaking again, "I know I owe you an explanation. I know you're never going to forgive me for the pain I'm going to cause you, but I just need...I just need you to keep me strong right now." _

_Why did she sound like she was saying goodbye? _

_ He had never wanted to ask so many things at one time. "Anne..." he said, putting all his confusion, his pain, his regret in that one word. Her name._

_ "Alfred..." she said back, the sad finality in her tone distinguishable. It was a sad confirmation of his worst fears. _

_ That was the moment he finally realized the unspoken truth. _

_ He felt tears form in his eyes. "No," he said desperately. "You can't be—this isn't happening!" _

"_I'm sorry," he heard her apologize. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you. I tried but I...I just couldn't do it. I couldn't let you suffer."_

_ He felt the hot, wet tears stain his cheeks. _

"_This is my fault," he said, the realization piercing him. "If I had just taken things more seriously, if I had listened—"_

"_No!" she said, her voice suddenly firm again. "Don't blame yourself, Alfred. Even if you knew...even if I told you, it would still have happened. Nothing would've made a difference."_

"_But you would've had more time!" he yelled, angry at himself. "_We_ would've had time." _

_They let that unfortunate truth settle between them. In his mind, he found himself thinking about what he could've done with that extra time, wondering what goodbye they would've had if he had known. His mind also struggled to come up with a future that didn't include her. He couldn't imagine it. _

"_Anne," he said, his voice cracking, "how am I going to live without you?" Again, he becomes the little boy who once clung to her heels and begged her to stay at his side forever._

_He could hear her trying to control her sobs. "You have to stay strong, Alfred. You have to keep going."_

"_I-I can't," he admitted. There was no point in pretending to be strong when he wasn't even strong enough to save her. _

"_Please?" she said pleadingly. "For me?" _

_ He felt like his heart was close to breaking. She was making her death wish. "I'll try," he said, even if he felt like it was impossible to. _

_ There was no reply. He could hear her breathing rapidly on the other line, as if she didn't have much strength to hold on to anymore._

_ "Anne?" he said weakly, not willing to let go of her yet._

_ "Tell me," she said suddenly, her sentence interrupted by fresh sobs, "tell me you love me. Just one last time." _

_ "Annie, I love you," he said, unable to contain his own tears. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he repeated over and over again, as if his love was enough to make her stay. _

_ "I love you too, Alfred," she said, struggling to keep her voice understandable. "I wish you knew how much." _

_ He couldn't answer. Disbelief of the situation made him speechless._

_ He heard her suddenly gasping for air on the other line. "Remember," she still managed to say, "remember _us_."_

_ There was a thud. The sound of a phone dropping. _

_ "Anne?" he whispered, holding his breath. _

_ This time, she didn't reply back. _

_ Remember us._ The words still haunted him whenever he picked up a phone.

"Do you believe in an afterlife?" she had asked him once.

"I guess," he had replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Because, I've lived long enough to know nothing in this world will last. We have to go someplace after, right? A place where everything is a bit more permanent."

"Makes sense," he had replied.

"Why do I have a feeling you're making fun of me in your head?"

He had stuck his tongue out. "Am not. I just think you spend too much time thinking."

"You wait and see," she had said, mocking the warning in her voice. "One day you'll be wondering the same thing and you'll thank me for giving you some insight."

And one day, he did find himself wondering. She had been right about that, like she had been about a lot of other things.

Alfred knelt beside her grave and placed a bouquet of fresh roses in front of the stone.

"Red roses," he murmured. "Always were your favourite."

No reply, as always. Still, he couldn't help but hope sometimes.

He delicately traced a finger over her engraved name. He would find the will to live again someday, a way to remember without the pain. Like she had asked.

For now, though, he could only hope that she was right about having a second life to live. Maybe he would manage to survive the rest of this one knowing he might get a second chance.


	33. Bonus Chapter: Drug Dependency

_**AN:**__ So, after months and months of posting the last chapter of this fic, I decided to post the chapter about the Opium Wars which I took down before most people could read. It was just sitting in my hard drive, unread (except for the two readers who requested to read it) so I decided to just post it here as a bonus chapter instead of feeling unfulfilled by not posting it at all. _

_It's not meant to influence anyone anything and I actually have no idea how people consume drugs so I am unsure of what I'm talking about at some points. Er, and for safe measure, drugs are harmful and England is a baaaad influence in this chapter. That's all._

_China, 1838 _

England stood patiently on the Chinese port, waiting for a certain person's arrival. The package carrying her most precious cargo was tucked in one of the deep, inside pockets of her coat. She tried to hide her growing impatience and the appearing look of secrecy on her face, hoping not to rouse suspicion among the locals and the foreigners alike.

She had been given permission to visit this foreign country on what she had insisted to be an innocent visit to a good friend. It was anything but an innocent visit. England knew that, if caught, the Chinese Emperor would surely throw her into prison before she could plead for English counsel. It was vital that her acquaintance arrive soon so that she could deliver her cargo and be on her way.

England looked through the crowds once more and sighed in relief when she spotted the familiar face she had been looking for. Her acquaintance had noticed her as well and signalled her to join him in the less conspicuous place where he was standing. She looked around to see if anyone was watching her before she walked steadily to her associate, China.

She nodded to him in greeting before following his lead to a place even more hidden. China led her to the back of an unused warehouse nearby, where they would be hidden by the building's shadow and the fading light of the setting sun.

"Have you brought the package, aru?" he questioned without preamble.

England nodded, "I have it here."

"Good," China replied. "Give it to me."

"The payment first," England demanded firmly. Grudgingly, China handed her a small sack of coins. She looked at the contents briefly before putting the sack into her pocket, while at the same time taking out the much-desired package. She felt the texture of the opium under the paper packaging.

He grabbed it from her hand as soon as she brought it out and England noticed how his body shivered for lack of the drug. China looked nothing like his usual self as he took out a piece of cigarette paper and rolled the drug and some tobacco into something he could smoke. She was also the one who had taught him to satisfy himself with the drug in that way.

England watched as his desperate expression slowly turned into a satisfied smile when he struck a match and lit up the cigarette.

"I guess I have nothing more to do here, China," England said, sensing that it was the time to leave. "I'll be back with the next delivery in a month or so."

China nodded. "Goodbye England."

She waved once, murmured a goodbye, and left. England walked calmly back to the port and boarded English ship she had been brought in. After a curt nod to the captain, she retreated to her quarters where she could count the money in private.

When she added up the total sum of all that she got from her illegal errand, it was her turn to don the satisfied smile. Then, without thinking, she rolled a cigarette of opium for herself. As she was about to light it up with the candle on her desk she froze.

The realization hit her that she had led China into the same web of addiction she had gotten herself trapped in. England shook away the thought, saying to herself that it was China's decision to take opium and not something she had forced on him.

She looked at the cigarette, knowing that she was too caught in the web to stop herself from taking the opium. England finally lit it up and put it to her lips, breathing out the smoke with a satisfied sigh. She waited for that artificial relief to come over her, when the drug would make her forget all the miseries that insistently plagued her and the certain ex-colony who got away.

_Present day_

"So the next problem we have to talk about is drug addiction and how we can get rid of it," America announced to the rest of the countries present in the meeting. Many other nations nodded in agreement to the significance of the issue.

England winced, remembering the time she herself was dependent on a drug. She involuntarily glanced at China's general direction. He looked at her from across the table, right at the same time she did.

They exchanged a glance, one containing a wealth of communication. With that one look, both of them promised not to say a word about the opium. They knew that some things about them were just better left untold.

Historical Notes: China and England have fought two wars over the illegal trade of opium. Even if it was outlawed by the Chinese, the English persisted in trading the drug with them illegally. Disputes over the illegal trading caused the two wars, China lost them both. England eventually forced China into many unfair trade agreements. Soon, many other countries started taking advantage of China in terms of trade as well.


End file.
